Thursday, November 24, 2011
I wrote this last year when I was home for Canadian Thanksgiving. People here in the States are always baffled when they hear Canada has a Thanksgiving. They wonder what it is we are thankful for, so I tell them we're just grateful we didn't become the 51st state. Of course, they know I'm kidding because I am proud to live here, and I'm thankful for all the awesome Americans I have in my life. You know who you are;)
For the first time, I have cooked the entire turkey dinner by myself, except for the brussel sprouts, which Mom prepared. After a long day in the kitchen— a room in which, up until today, I've spent very little time— I join my family at the dinner table. Before they can enjoy the fruits of my labor, Terry, my stepfather, says grace. He is interrupted by my brother, Cam, who can't contain his laughter. Apparently, the spread of assorted dishes has my brother busting a gut.
We begin our binge, or what I hope will be a binge, when, after only two bites, Mom gets up from the table to retreat to the bedroom, where she remains in a supine position with a cold, wet towel draped across her forehead. She swears it is the cancer and not my cooking that has brought on this acute bout of nausea.
Cam, still laughing, sits next to his girlfriend, Jen, who is a really slow eater; although, I don't remember her ever eating this slowly.
Terry is masticating quietly. It's as if he is concentrating on digesting his food so that it won't make a reappearance later on tonight. Cam still looks like he is constipated; the muscles in his face are stiff and his complexion a crimson red. He is trying desperately to contain his amusement but keeps having spurts where spit and snot fly out of his mouth and nose from his inability to suppress his cackle a second longer.
Terry stands up abruptly and declares, "Enough! You are being very rude! Can't you appreciate the amount of time that went in to this meal?" He leaves and takes his plate to the kitchen. I thank him for sticking up for me, and I tell him I am not offended by how rude everyone else is being. At this point, Aimee leans over to whisper that she thinks it was a strategic move on his part. Unfortunately, I realize it's probably true; Terry had only eaten half of what was on his plate, and I can hear him clearing the rest of what's left into to the trash.
Everyone seems to feel a little guilty right now. I can tell because, in an effort to make me feel better, each one of them has piped up to tell me how great the brussel sprouts taste.