| Turkey For Me, Turkey For You |
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| Written by Josh Grosvent | |
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 The turkey named "Flyer" serach for "jewels" on President Bush  During Turkey Day, no one can take their eyes off the main dish  In manys eyes Thanksgiving isn't Thanksgiving withtout the turkey With my girlfriend and I, generally we’re an interesting situation as it is. She’s a Speech Language Pathologist with Masters Degrees and certifications who’s dating an itinerant comedian with no real source of income and/or prospects unless "Saturday Night Live" calls right now. But come the holiday season, we really fall into an interesting situation. You see, our families are literally 10 minutes apart from each other. We can’t pull the "Christmas is at your parent’s/Thanksgiving is at mine" routine because inevitably, one of our families will screw up and plan it the other way around leaving two giant Thanksgiving meals to pick from and a Christmas Day with no plans whatsoever. If you choose poorly, young Jedi, the guilt train will become a one way ride from now until, oh, June 2008 so there’s bound to be arguments. That having been said, we do "the split." Yes, TWO turkey dinners in one day, roughly running from dawn till dusk. My Thanksgiving started at 7 am with a turkey ready to eat at 10 am. The Macy’s Holiday Parade was barely underway and I’m wolfing down for some stuffing and pie with the sun barely cresting over the trees. Now, I should explain: we did my parents’ as the early morning bash because, as all guys out there know–whatever you think is important, isn’t nearly as important as to what your girlfriend/ wife has planned. Her family was the second phase of the day–shall we say, the real dinner–so my mom’s amazing feast was simply a warm-up. I should have gone easy, but I didn’t. I was very unwise and didn’t take into account my whole day–I forgot about the effects of tryptophan–the enzyme in turkey flesh that turns grown men into snoring babies. I was hit by the Turkey coma that comes after such a feast. Noon came around, and I was already out for the day. Dizzy like a binging drunken sailor–flashing back to my not-so-distant college days. Barely able to walk, stumbling around as if in an alcoholic haze, I was looking for one more slice of chocolate pie before I punched out for the afternoon. "But Josh, your day hasn’t even started," she sweetly said. She was right. My mom’s feast was for just six of us, whereas the feast planned with her family was going to be for almost 20 people. 20 people? Yes, 20 people. We got in the car and headed over to round two. A light dusting of snow was coming down in my small hometown located in Central New York State. I was driving my girlfriend’s Honda Civic like a stock car racer on the brink of an anxiety attack. Swerving in and out of ice patches on the road, I was worrying more about the several hundred pies stacked in the back seat instead of our personal safety.I mean, broken arms and legs will heal, but a family with no dessert on Thanksgiving is a wound that will never close–ever. They say you can never go home again, but we sure as hell try this time of year, don’t we? It’s time for the holidays and we’re off to mygirlfriend’s family’s Thanksgiving. Once again, though trying keeping my mind on the copious number of pies stacked back there, I was straining to maintain; my eyes were barely open. Yes, we left a couple of them with my family, but the remaining ones seemed like they were reproducing in the car while we drove. It was amazing. I pulled around the corner and saw more cars than should ever be at any one home event ever. I thought to myself, "There must be a Pearl Jam concert at this house today because that is a lot of cars." I pulled up to the door and the men formed a line similar to the bucket brigades back in the early days of firefighting as we unloaded the pies. |