Let’s flashback to Monday. My mother, son and I are heading back from Montgomery. My mother offers to buy the Thanksgiving turkey. With me so far? Good.
I’m not a turkey cooking man. It’s just something I’ve never done. All I know is that the fourth Thursday of each November I eat turkey and get drowsy. With me so far? Good.
There we are at the freezer and my mother tells us to pick out a turkey. My son points at one and says “That’s about the same size as the one we got last year.” My mother asks if I think my son is right and I mumble something that sounds like agreement. Laughing at me yet? Good.
We get to the register and the check out lady says “You must have a big family to buy a bird this big!” That should have been a clue something was wrong. Of course the fact that the turkey weighed 21lbs should have been a really big clue. Go ahead, laugh at me.
We get the turkey home and my wife asks “What do you expect me to do with that?!” All men pay close attention: The proper response is NOT “Well, I expect you to cook it.” Consider my life lesson for November to be learned.
In a show of matrimonial love my wife opted not to kill me but instead had me take her to the store to buy what she needs to cook the turkey. Somehow I feel I’ll have to take a “hands on” role this year.
I’m coming to your house this year .. *smirks* You will need help eating that big of a bird. j/k I can’t laugh to hard the only bird I buy to cook is a butterball frozen to oven. That means it is already prepared and it literally can go from being in my freezer to shoved in the oven to on a plate to eat. My excuse: I only do deserts. Jokes is the cook in the family. Sad thing is he knows it.