Thanks giving has turned into one big showy, family hating, foot ball watching, crisis.
I say this with that best of heart. I love a nice bird on the big day. I seem to recall a time in my life when we would get up early and have to put on our Sunday’s best. we would pack into the car with all the delicious food, and fight the beastly highway traffic to my aunt’s house. The television commercial produced by “Campbell’s”: “I brought the green bean casserole!” is not a fable. I can tell you which family member made what. First I would look at it. Than I would try it. Than I would check the consistency. I hate a runny green bean casserole.
When I was married I would try; this being the right word, try to invite my mother and brother up. Of course my best friend David would have spent the night. He would, as usual, film me with an apron and a bad wig. “My name is Julia child, and I will not suffer this bird with chopped vegetables.” As I stuffed the back end of this uncooked game fowl with celery. It was the S&M turkey. I separated it’s skin and stuffed it with butter. Than I browned at a lovely 475 for six hours. I would be half drunk by the time my family managed to trudge in. My husband complained about the giblet gravy, that one year I did not fix it. He was mad; I was laughing on the inside. I functioned on a “Donna Reed” delusion. Carrying the roles, fog pouring out of the floor; everyone happy to be there. Instead I got: “I don’t like that!”, “Why did you use the good china?”, “Your roles suck.” I will put it on record that my rolls are light and buttery; thank you very much.
Now I work at a hotel. Every year I have at least, if not more, seven plates from guests. Every type of bird from baked to deep fried. It is my right after a failed seven year marriage to be drunk on several holidays. I dream of a hunky man with a plate of turkey; serving me grapes as I relax in a chaise lounge. However as I continue to work my life away in this thing called the “American Dream”, I get further and further away from any delusion that a holiday may stereotypically.
As for now Wine is my friend and a lovely app called grinder gives me hope that maybe just maybe a hunky man will find me his soul mate.