Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
( Congress actually passed a law in 1941 making the last Thursday in November the legal Thanksgiving Day. Apparently they had nothing better to do then either)
I haven’t cooked a Thanksgiving meal in several years because we’ve been invited out.
This year I’m cooking.
I’m roasting a big ass turkey. A twenty-two pound currently frozen turkey.
For 5 people.
The big ass turkey is a result of two communication ships passing in the night. I am one ship, Grocery Shopping Dave is the other.
He shopped for the turkey under the impression we would be having many guests for dinner.
I have no idea who he thought was coming or where in the world he got the idea.
I sailed on by in my ship planning for five of us.
Anyway, this big ass turkey has been thawing in my garage fridge for days.
The freaking thing is still frozen but I swear it makes a gobble sound every time I open the fridge door.
I had to google “How long do I roast a big ass turkey?” because I’m not sure I’ve ever made a turkey this big. People must google this all the time because the time and temperature table came right up.
Then I googled “What does it mean when your big ass frozen turkey gobbles at you?”. That search took me right to the schizophrenia page.
Dave will finish thawing, cleaning and getting that bird ready to roast. I will not argue with a turkey (the bird, not Dave).
If and when we finally put that golden brown big ass turkey on the dinner table I’ll take my place at the end of the table to give thanks.
I’ll be the one in the headphones connected to a sound loop that says “Frozen turkeys do not talk. You did not hear a turkey gobble. The turkey is dead, eat the turkey. ”
(I’m going to stop at the store on the way home to buy a ham. Just in case…..)