Around this time of year I tend to get a little nostalgic. While reveling in the traditional feasting festivities I reminisce on holiday’s past. Like the time my sister screwed up the pumpkin pie because she didn’t know how to work the oven. And then there was the following year, also known as the second time my sister screwed up the pumpkin pie and the year after that, the time my sister became the permanent designated salad maker.
One story sticks out in particular this time of year. It is a story that brings a smile to my face every time. Please note that the names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.
It was 1998 and I lived in a small town in the middle of America. I was on my own and simultaneously loving and hating every minute of it. Loving the fact that I could drink to my heart’s content, but hating the fact that I could rarely afford both food and beer; I was your typical early twenty-something. I surrounded myself with other angst ridden, blissfully bohemian and broke people. We were the outcasts and proud of it; we lived on the edge of society, flouting the rules and mores of the social order we dyed our hair in Technicolor shades, drank on a school night and got tattoos… Oh, and we all worked at the mall, truly gansta.
As retail lackeys many of my friends were not going to make it home for Thanksgiving, the day after being the traditional running of the consumers in malls all over America. (Take that Pamplona, you and your stupid bulls.) Our goofy band of friends decided not to let this bring us down and vowed to have the first (and last) “Island of Misfit Toys” Thanksgiving. (Yes, that was a Rudolph the Reindeer reference. One of my friends was a little Goth and had a passion for all things slightly creepy.) The party was going to be at our modest two bedroom apartment with efficiency kitchen. You can already see that this was a bad idea.
The small space was no problem to our ragtag bunch of friends; the five of us would happily eat anywhere. Then Anna, my roommate got a call from her mom who wanted to spend the holiday with her daughter and was willing to make the three hour drive to do so. A few hours later her father called, he didn’t want his little girl to be alone on Thanksgiving and he too would make the drive. Did I mention that her parents were very unhappily divorced and had not been in the same room for years? No biggie, we had plenty of food… and wine. What more would we need?
We spent Wednesday morning gleefully shopping for the feast. I was in charge of the mashed potatoes and the turkey. I had never cooked a turkey, but how hard could it be? Wednesday evening we were ready to go, with hours to spare… why not go out for a bit?
Did you know that the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is the biggest bar night of the year? This is because all of the eligible bar-going twenty-somethings have nothing more to do the next day but get up and binge eat, and then nap and then binge eat again. This is your average hangover cure anyway so the plan is pretty solid. That is, unless, you plan on cooking the next day. We were beginning to see the error in our little misfit holiday. There was no canceling though, since parents were involved. We decided to do the responsible thing… and go out, but only for a little bit. After all, we had to be up REALLY early to cook the turkey.
At the risk of making a long story even longer I will just give you a synopsis of the evening. We ended up at an epic party; there was a hello kitty back pack stocked with gin & tonics, a twister board, a Ouija board and 311 blasting on a CD player. I vaguely recall jello shots and a room filled with black lights. (It was the nineties, don’t judge.) Needless to say we did not make it home early.
We got home at five-thirty in the morning. Anna stumbled into her room and passed out in immediately. I debated staying up for the two hours before the turkey had to be in the oven and decided it was the best plan. After all, I could sleep after the bird was in the oven. I decided to review the recipe and directions on the turkey. Did you know that you have to remove things from INSIDE of the turkey? Did you know that this is one thousand times worse when a hangover is setting in? By the way, there is a reason that your body tries to sleep when you are drunk, the beginning of a hangover is WAY worse than it is after sleeping for a bit. I managed to get the turkey prepped and in the oven, and flopped into bed.
I had only just begun to drift off when I heard a crashing from the bathroom. I rushed to the closed door and asked Anna if she was ok. A muffled yes was all I heard before stumbled back to bed.
At noon I awoke to a banging on the front door, it was Anna’s mom. She was an hour early. I quickly threw on some clothes and picked up empties from last night on the way to the door. There she stood, with an armful of pies and a frown on her face. “I thought you guys would be up by now,” she said looking around. “Where’s Anna?”
I told her she woke up early to help with the turkey and was taking a little nap. I was silently congratulating myself for my quick thinking when Anna’s mom told me a story that stopped me in my tracks. She told me that she was so glad we were cooking this year, since in the years past Anna has made a habit of going out the night before Thanksgiving, getting wasted and ruining the meal the next day. I won’t go into the gory details, but needless to say Anna’ mom was pleased we took the initiative to cook this Thanksgiving in lieu of reveling the night before. I smiled and nodded. After all, who was I to ruin Thanksgiving for her?
I thought my ruse had worked until Anna’s mom decided to use the restroom. Remember that crashing sound I heard earlier? Flash back to Anna’s evening. First of all, cheap gin is never a good idea. Did I not mention we were broke? The cheap stuff was all we could afford. Anna, after sleeping for a bit, recognized that the bathroom was a safer place to be. Let’s just say she started to get a little queasy. As she sprinted to the bathroom she realized she was going to be there for a while and grabbed her feather pillow. On the way she tripped over her dog, an adorable little mutt that Anna loved more than life. In her effort to not hurt the dog she stumbled on her pillow ripping it open. She fell into the bathtub. In her attempt to break her fall she grabbed onto anything she could on the way down, in this case it was a full bottle of shampoo. The pressure of her weight popped the lid off and spewed the sticky substance all over.
Back to her mom opening the bathroom door… to a tarred (or should I say shampooed) and feathered Anna on the ground. Feathers were smeared on the mirror and hanging from the toilet tank. Anna looked like a half-plucked chicken asleep on the floor. Cue Anna’s Dad at the front door. Needless to say, neither was very pleased with us.
Anna’s mom helped clean the bathroom, after helping to clean Anna, which took several showers since the shampoo and feathers were tough to get out the first time around. Her dad assisted with dinner and with the clean up, and all in all it wasn’t too bad of a holiday especially after we had our after dinner naps. Anna even managed to choke down a few bites turkey before returning to bed.
I guess this story comes to mind because, believe it or not, it reminds me of what I am thankful for. I am thankful for my capricious youth and the good times that I have had. I am thankful that I made some very bad decisions including the three months I had purple hair. I am also very thankful that those times in my life are over. I am thankful that I can afford to have my hair done in normal and fairly natural colors. I am thankful that I can afford to drink decent red wine, even if it is only in moderation. I am thankful for my family even as I am cursing them for tracking mud through my house.
In the past few weeks I have been invited to several Thanksgiving Eve parties, all of which I respectfully declined. I am happy to stay at home and bake my husband’s favorite pumpkin cheesecake for tomorrow. I am happy to let someone else take care of the turkey. I am happy to watch my daughter play contentedly while I putter around the kitchen. I am happy to drink a glass (or three) of really good red wine. No cheap gin allowed.
So to end this Thanksgiving Story:
And she said with a grin as she poured another glass,
Happy Thanksgiving to all, lets binge eat en masse!
P.S. Did I mention I am really thankful for red wine?
a life just ordinary 