Look Away

Was that Thanksgiving that just passed?? It’s been such a whirlwind I lost track of the days. It may have been the punch or maybe it was the intervention my family sprung on me after dessert in a lame attempt to get me back off gum. I’m sporting bags under my eyes, a food baby, and a herpes on my lip. Look away, I’m hideous. Nonetheless, I have a few comments on the holiday.

There will never be enough places to sit and eat in our house, and if you ever find yourself eating in the living room, it is because I have either passed away or am lying in a coma, and am unaware of whether or not you just spilled cranberry sauce on my sofa and left a wet ring on my coffee table. When your little children grow up they must continue to sit on your laps, unless you can work something out, like you sitting on their laps instead. I used to insist on squeezing everyone around a table in an effort to recreate a Norman Rockwell scene, but the stress of making the seating chart would paralyze me for days. Presently it’s more like a game of musical chairs. If you end up with a good seat in the dining room consider yourself very lucky, but know that someone will be gunning for you next year. The only people guaranteed their seat of choice are the over-ninety-five set. However, I am considering taking cash bribes next year, and if that offends you morally or because it’s downright obnoxious, please look away.

There will always be lots of booze and I encourage you to drink as heavily as I do. This way if I overcook the turkey, or the food is cold by the time you dig in, or the green beans are soggy, or the leeks are hard, or the mashed potatoes lumpy, you won’t notice. Or if you do notice, you won’t give a damn. They are likely that way because some of you keep trying to confuse me by asking how much was that centerpiece? or what is the score of the game? or what time is my flight tomorrow and what is the number? or some other question involving math, when I am desperately trying to calculate the conversion of cooking time for both the turkey and the green bean casserole from regular oven to convection, while working it so they are ready at the same time the stuffing is coming out of the regular oven, and before anyone dozes off or starts a riot. If you are a teetotaler and it offends you to see me pushing punch on everyone over the age of ten, please just look away.

There will always be something I forget to serve, so if you’ve got your heart set on that green salad or the butter shaped like a turkey or that box of chocolates, don’t look away, take some initiative and put it on the table! It’s extremely likely that if I come across it lurking in the fridge after the meal is done, but before you have left my house, you will find it in your handbag the next day. Or the pocket of your coat. I am really good at hiding things.

I hate waste as much as the next person but if it offends you to watch me throw food away at the end of the night, (…and I think you are starting to catch on to this…) just look away. I used to pack it all up and save it, only to end up throwing it away two days later. So in an attempt to lighten my work load and free up the Tupperware, I throw it away on the spot. My local soup kitchen doesn’t take used food, and none of you ever want to take doggie bags. If I catch you sneaking a plate of food drenched in gravy to my dog (that’s right Nanny, I’m on to your tricks!) I will insist that you make yourself available for the next 24 hours to clean up her vomit and diarrhea, no matter your age or your gag reflex. I know there are children starving in Africa and if you want to pay for the shipping and the dry ice I’d be happy to send my leftovers to them.

Along these same lines I would like to officially declare that I do not reuse plastic utensils. I use plastic for dessert because I’m just plumb tired of washing the real stuff. Not because I like the way it feels on my tongue or the weightlessness of it in my hand, or the way it makes me cringe in anticipation of the tines snapping off as I run it into a well-done pie crust. Please don’t put them in my dishwasher unless you are constructing a Post Thanksgiving Sculpture to represent the twisted nature of my gathering, just dump them in the trash. Again, if this offends you because of the waste, please JLA. And no, I will not be recycling them either.

Speaking of recycling, please understand that when my recycling bins are full, I will have fulfilled my obligation to the environment for the day and will commence throwing the recycling into my trash compactor. I know this is “wrong” and that I risk getting a fine in addition to the giant hole in the ozone layer I am ensuring for my great grandchildren, but let’s face it, they are probably going to have to walk to school in space suits anyway, and I do my part by not using hair spray or driving an SUV.

Please, JLA.