In honor of Thanksgiving and the need of a bit of laughter, I thought I would give you the tale of my first “adult” Thanksgiving.
I must have gone crazy that year. It was 2006, Momma and Daddy had been gone for a year. Butthead and I had been officially dating for almost a year. I decided that instead of choosing between a bunch of invites from both sides of our families that everyone should come to us! Everyone needed to meet anyway, right? Right? (Insert yeah right facial expression)
Needless to say chaos insued when I realized how ill prepared I was for this massive undertaking! The day before Thanksgiving consisted of me and my sis in law driving back and forth between our houses using my oven and her two ovens to cook everything. We were cooking well into the night. I actually stayed up all night cooking.
Butthead woke early to start the turkey on the rotisserie. He thought the Showtime rotisserie was amazing and wanted to cook in it. I left him to it. I was organizing things onto platters and waiting for sis in law to arrive with more food. I hear Butthead cussing behind me. I turn to see him trying to get a plug of meat out of the “flavor injector”(basically a syringe used to inject marinades into the meat).
Before I could say “no!” Butthead slams the plunger end of the injector on the counter, the lodged piece of meat flies out along with a stream of marinade that flies all the way to the ceiling and splatters. (There is still a stain there to this day! ) I yell: “What the HELL, babe?! REALLY? ” He grins, sheepishly and shrugs, “it’s no longer clogged…and this turkey’s gonna kick ass! ”
After that I realize that I am running out of counter space for all the food and I had not considered that I have 20 people coming to eat and a table that seats 6. -panic-
People arrive, it isn’t very organized, but the food and company is good. People tell me that I shouldn’t have stressed, that they would have been glad with just a sandwich. They understood this was my first time as host. (Insert crazy laugh) After I made sure everyone had a plate and a seat, I sat down on the stairs to catch my breath. I woke up to Butthead shaking me saying, “People are getting ready to go!”
I had passed out on the stairs! I quickly concluded that hosting Thanksgiving was not a gig for me! I am not built to be a hostess. I stress and worry too much! I cannot pretend to be Martha Stewart! It’s just not me! I spent entirely too much time trying to make sure everything was perfect and did not get to enjoy my company like I should have.
Anyone have a Thanksgiving Tale to share? Write it below!
Happy Thanksgiving, y’all! ♡♡♡