I am a procrastinator. I will put off necessary duties until the last possible moment. One year I did the entirety of my Christmas shopping at 5pm on Christmas Eve. At WalMart. Because that is just how classy I am.
For the last several years I've been the designated Thanksgiving cook. This isn't really a big deal since there are only three of us. It isn't too difficult to cook for me, my husband, and my mother, in large part because I cook what I like and those other two clowns will eat just about whatever is put in front of them. But when you combine Thanksgiving cooking duties with irrational procrastination you are left with nothing but 20+ pound birds at the grocery store on the Wednesday before the big day. The first few years I just shrugged and hoisted the big ass turkeys into my shopping cart, banking on the fact that my husband really digs turkey sandwiches. And I like turkey sandwiches too, but more because turkey is a perfect vehicle for mayonnaise and salt. I don't really care about the protein. I just want the fat, sodium, and cholesterol. We all have our vices, and lord knows I have plenty, but in the culinary realm mayonnaise is on my list of top five. I've been known, in moments of dietary weakness, to eat it by the spoonful. Yeah, you heard me. I'm not proud of it, but I'm keeping it real here.
As I soon found out, no matter how fond someone might be of turkey sandwiches, when you're dealing with a twenty-three pound bird and only three eaters you're going to be faced with more leftovers than you can slap between a couple pieces of bread. In years past I bravely soldiered on, making turkey soup, turkey hash, and turkey pot pies. But after a couple weeks of this I was so sick of the bird that if I saw another piece of turkey I was going to kick somebody in the crotch.
This year I'm very proud to say that I learned my lesson. I felt like hammered shit today and spent the majority of the morning and afternoon whining like a baby on the sofa, but I managed to get my ass down to the grocery store to do the holiday food shopping. I shuffled along the aisles, grunting and sneezing while pushing my cart. Then, in the distance, I viewed the meat section. It was surrounded by other shoppers. There appeared to be some shoving. I felt my chest tighten and my heart speed up. I gulped and braced myself. I needed a small turkey. I had to find something not designed to feed an entire army platoon. I simply could not deal with another year of turkey tacos or whatever the hell. I heard the Chariots of Fire theme song in my head as I fought through the crowd and started looking through the turkey bin. When I located a thirteen pound bird I snatched it up, cradled it like a baby, and proudly set it into my grocery cart.
So this year I predict a wonderful Thanksgiving. There will be plenty of bird for dinner, as well as some nicemayonnaise turkey sandwiches afterwards. And best of all, no one will be kicked in the crotch.
For the last several years I've been the designated Thanksgiving cook. This isn't really a big deal since there are only three of us. It isn't too difficult to cook for me, my husband, and my mother, in large part because I cook what I like and those other two clowns will eat just about whatever is put in front of them. But when you combine Thanksgiving cooking duties with irrational procrastination you are left with nothing but 20+ pound birds at the grocery store on the Wednesday before the big day. The first few years I just shrugged and hoisted the big ass turkeys into my shopping cart, banking on the fact that my husband really digs turkey sandwiches. And I like turkey sandwiches too, but more because turkey is a perfect vehicle for mayonnaise and salt. I don't really care about the protein. I just want the fat, sodium, and cholesterol. We all have our vices, and lord knows I have plenty, but in the culinary realm mayonnaise is on my list of top five. I've been known, in moments of dietary weakness, to eat it by the spoonful. Yeah, you heard me. I'm not proud of it, but I'm keeping it real here.
As I soon found out, no matter how fond someone might be of turkey sandwiches, when you're dealing with a twenty-three pound bird and only three eaters you're going to be faced with more leftovers than you can slap between a couple pieces of bread. In years past I bravely soldiered on, making turkey soup, turkey hash, and turkey pot pies. But after a couple weeks of this I was so sick of the bird that if I saw another piece of turkey I was going to kick somebody in the crotch.
This year I'm very proud to say that I learned my lesson. I felt like hammered shit today and spent the majority of the morning and afternoon whining like a baby on the sofa, but I managed to get my ass down to the grocery store to do the holiday food shopping. I shuffled along the aisles, grunting and sneezing while pushing my cart. Then, in the distance, I viewed the meat section. It was surrounded by other shoppers. There appeared to be some shoving. I felt my chest tighten and my heart speed up. I gulped and braced myself. I needed a small turkey. I had to find something not designed to feed an entire army platoon. I simply could not deal with another year of turkey tacos or whatever the hell. I heard the Chariots of Fire theme song in my head as I fought through the crowd and started looking through the turkey bin. When I located a thirteen pound bird I snatched it up, cradled it like a baby, and proudly set it into my grocery cart.
So this year I predict a wonderful Thanksgiving. There will be plenty of bird for dinner, as well as some nice
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