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Thanksgiving eve, the day where you can’t wait to get out of work so you can rush to the bar and meet up with all your friends from college and drink yourselves into oblivion. Then reality sets in and you realize that you’re rushing home so that you can start cooking for Thanksgiving and that, well you have no friends, because all your friends are married and have kids and you’re now a mom that does mom things. Bummer right? Lets do a side by side comparison of “what you think” vs. “reality”:   Yep, seems accurate. So now that everyone is depressed lets move on and sulk together. On the brighter side of things, we could all be the thousands of turkeys that took one for the team so we can eat two small pieces of Tom because we filled up on all the other things and we’re all too full to eat turkey! Poor Tom, he doesn’t get enough credit on this holiday! Have you ever noticed that about Thanksgiving? Everyone takes their time preparing Tom, basting him, stuffing him, making him look all handsome and then when it’s his time to shine, everyone is passed the fuck out on the couch with the buttons to their pants undone! I digress… We have this tradition that everyone in the family hosts Thanksgiving. Last year we spent it at my future daughter-in-law’s parents’ house, which was perfect because when I offered to make something they said those magical words, “nothing, just bring yourselves”. Don’t have to tell me twice, I’m not stupid. You think I want to look like the angry lady with curlers in my hair whipping stuffing at a poor innocent turkey that sacrificed its life for us? This year Thanksgiving is once again NOT at our house, which I am truly grateful for because between the kids and the animals, we’d be eating outside in the fucking cold with picnic tables set up. So we’re all heading up to the Poconos. So when the conversation came up about who was making what, my wife was ever so generous in offering up my cooking skills to make a sweet potato casserole. Wait, what? Who’s doing what? What happen to the “just bring yourselves” plan we were sticking with? COME ON WOMAN… same page, what happen to being on the same page!? I pulled the “I work 10 hours a day and now I have to come home and cook?” card. Here’s some advice from the asshole, don’t ever imply that your wife who is a stay-at-home mom doesn’t “work” just as many hours as you do. No bueno kiddos.. no bueno. Because if you do, you WILL end up with this look:  In any event, I’m making sweet potato casserole. Wife 1- Me 0. So my wife goes to the grocery store yesterday to buy the things I need and she calls me and asks me how many sweet potatoes I need, what ingredients do I need, how many trays am I making? Hold up…trays, as in plural, as in more than one? Of course, that response prompts a 20 minute dissertation that starts like this, “well hunny there’s 8 of us, mommy and daddy is two, Scott, Peggy Tommy and Andrew are 4, Cristina’s parents are 2 so that’s 14.” Thank you for the math lesson, but how the fuck am I suppose to know? Have you seen sweet potatoes, some of them are the size of small children! What is the Thanksgiving rule of thumb, 1 sweet potato per person? There’s no friggen rule book on how many sweet potatoes to get to feed our small country of a family! I told her to figure out. So what does she do, she texts me and tells me she got 7 pounds of sweet potatoes. At this point, I’m trying process what 7 pounds of potatoes looks like and all I can see is newborn baby. Awesome……. isn’t she pretty?! So now that I have accomplished my wifely duties of cooking for Thanksgiving, I was told by my wife that we are bringing the dogs with us up to the Poconos, because we’re staying over night. I asked here why we were bring the dogs and she said, “we can’t leave them over night”. Silly me, where the fuck has my head gone. Anymore Thanksgiving bombs you want unload on me there pumpkin! When I told her that they weren’t children and don’t need to have an adult with them overnight, her response was, “Kris, they’re not like the cats. They’re not nocturnal, they can’t see in the dark and they’ll be sad and lonely. They’re OUR FURRY CHILDREN and its a holiday, they have to come with us!” I know you all can’t wait to see what my expression was with that comment, so here ya go:  Ok, first, I’m sorry but was this something we learned while watching the documentary, “A Dog’s Life”? Because if so, she is NOW banned from documentaries on Netflix! Secondly, I don’t recall any one of us birthing two four legged furry animals that bark. I tried to explain to her that the car was going to full and mom and dad were riding up with us and where are they going to go? Ready for this…no really, are you all sitting down? We have car seats…FOR FUCKING DOGS! I curse you “A Dog’s Life” documentary, I’m giving you a shitty review! Needles to say… wife 2 – me still 0!
So here it is Thanksgiving Eve and I’ve made trays (notice the plural form of tray) of sweet potato casserole, I’ve put dog car seats in the car and packed a bag for the dogs which included their blankets, sweaters, toys and food! Ya know the normal things you would pack IF YOU HAD A FUCKING INFANT, NOT A DOG! Welp, all ready for our 3 hour trip tomorrow morning. Everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving! |
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