Oh, don't get me wrong. I love getting together with family. And I love the eating of the food. Who wouldn't? I suspect that even God eats sweet potato casserole on Thanksgiving.
It's the preparing of the food that I dread. My attempts in the kitchen usually fall nothing short of DefCom Five Nuclear Disasters, ending with the placement of a FEMA trailer on our property. In all 50 states, I have been forbidden by law to change my last name to Pillsbury, Stouffer, Crocker, and Mills, lest the association with my cooking causes certain food manufacturing companies to go bankrupt.
In fact, the top three items on my What I'm Thankful For list are
1. take-out pizza
2. the entire cereal aisle at the grocery store
See, if I had been a Pilgrim, this is how the first Thanksgiving would have happened.
Hubster: We have a lot to be thankful for. Let's invite our Native American friends to share in our bounty by sharing a meal with us.
TC: Great! I'll prepare that new instant oatmeal.
Hubster: Hey, isn't that made by those heathen Quakers?
TC: Yeah, but the Native Americans don't know that.
This year, we are celebrating the day with some friends, so I have been appointed the task of bringing the dessert. One would think I could manage a pumpkin pie or two, wouldn't one? One should really get in touch with reality.
Yesterday, I had all the necessary ingredients assembled on the counter. I was sort of hoping some kind of magic would occur, a la Beauty and the Beast - the canned pumpkin and the spatula and the pie crust would do a song and dance and then combine to make themselves into a pie that would win the Bake-Off Prize of the Century.
But that didn't happen. (And by the way, I will never forgive Walt Disney for causing me to have such high expectations out of life - princes on white horses, mice that sew, cars with the voice of Owen Wilson...)
Anyway. Here is what I learned from the experience.
I own only one can opener. The old-fashioned kind, that you use to puncture holes in the tops of lids of evaporated milk.
My only can opener hasn't been used in 15 years.
My only can opener is extremely difficult to locate.
My only can opener might be in the very back of the drawer of kitchen utensils.
In the front of the drawer of kitchen utensils, I have ice cream scoops.
Six ice cream scoops.
One of my ice cream scoops is adorned with a cow's head that actually moos when you dip out the ice cream.
A mooing ice cream scoop should be enough to keep one from eating too much ice cream and thereby gaining weight, but it isn't.
Therefore: a 15-year old can opener caused me to get fat.
In summary, have a blessed Thanksgiving, and eat all the cranberry sauce you'd like. I didn't make it, so it's safe.