So we’re staying in DC for Thanksgiving this year and we’re going to be on our own. Well, not counting two infants and a possible friend or two or five. OK, FINE. So we won’t be on our own, but it will be our first Thanksgiving without extended family around.
Since E and I met, we’ve spent every Thanksgiving with his family in Florida; a family that does the whole turkeystuffingcranberrypumpkinpie thing (plus, either good cocktails or good bulgogi depending on which side of the family we’re with). They actually spend hours cooking up the amazingly awesome, totally traditional feast I certainly did not partake in growing up. Foreign parents and living in Saudi Arabia = no Thanksgiving (or 4th of July for that matter. Too bad, so sad).
This year, we can’t make it down to Florida and our family isn’t coming up; it’ll be our first attempt at going the whole hog (turkey?) on our own. This realization led to us standing at Harris Teeter the other day, staring into the depths of the frozen food troughs at the vacuum sealed (aren’t they delicious looking?) bags of turkey goodness. Except that E couldn’t possibly settle for just any old turkey. No, he had to find a Turducken.
This random babble emanated from my darling husband when I made the mistake of asking him what the hell a Turducken was:
Basically, you take a turkey and you slice it open and go PPPPFFFFHHHHHTTTTT (load farting/raspberry sound. Isn’t he sexy!) and stuff a duck in, then go PPPPFFFFFFHHHHPPPTTTTTT and stuff a chicken in and then go PPPFHHHTTTT PPPHHTHT PTPHT PHTHTP FFTT and squish sausage into all the cracks. So basically it’s like a BIG MEATY FART! YES! MEATY FART! Please, please, can we please have one for Thanskgiving!!
10 second pause during which I laugh so hard I’m silent. Ironically like another kind of fart.
I mean it’s kind of like the woman who swallowed a fly, who swallowed a horse and I think a cow and a pig, right? Except, didn’t she die? Didn’t she get poisoned or something? Anyway, it’s like the turkey, who swallowed a duck, who swallowed a chicken, who swallowed… a pig! Yes! TURRRRDUCKEN! Oh, but they forgot the sausage in the name. Wait, no they didn’t. OH MY GOD, THEY EVEN PUT THE ‘R’ FROM PORK INTO TURDUCKEN!
Me: E, the ‘R’ is from tuRkey. As in TURducken.
Fine. But we can still get one, right? Right? Right? (sounding extraordinarily like the little seagulls in Finding Nemo).
Somehow, I managed to convince him that since Thanksgiving is still a week away and we have zero space in the freezer, we should wait a few days before buying the monster that will grace our Very First Super Special Thanksgiving Dinner (and yes, I will refer to it as such for as long as I remember).
So, I am putting out a plea. Everyone keep your fingers crossed that they run out of this damn and blast cross-species-of-a-rabid-Frankenstein, so that we can start our family tradition with the generic, sleep inducing, unbutton-your-pants-and-make-room-for-leftovers turkey (which sounds infinitely better). The boys will still have plenty of insane holidays to look forward to with both sides of our lovable, yet slightly crazy families and a father who thinks Turducken is the coolest thing in the world. Aside from his new PlayStation 3. Oh crap… I think I married a twelve year old.