Your Thanksgiving Day Host
November 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’ll be honest. I’m really freaked out to be cooking an entire turkey. A whole freeking turkey! I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life. I’ve never even dreamt about cooking turkey. I don’t even use “turkey” as an insult in casual conversation. Yet here I am stressing over the poultry’s posture in the pan. I’m not even that great of a cook. I’m much better coming up with a name, Trampstamp Tonya, and I plan on branding her before she bakes, just so she lives up to her name.
I take Thanksgiving pretty seriously. I cried over it about three times last month. I admit it, tears over turkey. My cynical anti-consumerism took hold when I was an angsty teenager dressed in black with eyeliner even batman would be jealous of. That and the fact I literally have a panic attack every time I open a present are the emotions that lobbied for Thanksgiving. I’d announce with my nose in the air, “Thanksgiving is the purest of all holidays. The day of thanks has yet to be commercialized.” It was only recently I discovered the reason I haven’t been home for the holiday since 2004 was because airlines hike up ticket prices. Now I’m noticing all the laminated cornucopias.
The more the merrier is the motto for this holiday, really earning back pure points even though the price of canned cran is through the roof. I always volunteer (or demand, depending who you ask) to make my Grandma Lily’s pumpkin pie. I make 3 so I’m guaranteed leftovers. I refuse to eat any other pie. This type of immaturity might explain the tears earlier this month.
The anxiety really set in last Friday when I started making the menu list, the shopping list, the cleaning list, the other to-do list when you are expecting a house full of people. And these expected people haven’t even confirmed yet. Really… are you concerned about the quality of my turkey or are you just waiting for a better offer? You can’t tell me you haven’t found time to get back to me, I know you’re on facebook. Insulted that I was the only one who had RSVPed, I went out to beat the shopping rush anyway. Not waiting until the last minute is one of those adult tendencies I’ve picked up. Probably why I’m now qualified to serve Thanksgiving dinner.
This is my first time hosting the holiday, and although I know that not everybody takes it as fatefully as I do, I still want to be the coolest Thanksgiving my guests have ever experienced period, all four of them. After all our Turkey is a former biker hussy. In fact I even (or finally depending who you talk to) bought a dinning table. No one’s eating off their laps at my house. Picked it up this morning, now I just have to build it. Okay so maybe I waited until the last minute on that one.
I’m still a bit anxious because the ladies before me who helped me put the bird of the day on such a high pedestal made it look easy. Grandma Lily, my mother, and my good friend’s husband have all shown gourmet grace under fire with a touch of Martha Stewart. Pulling a centerpiece out of my ass is the least of my problems compared to the 14lb flightless bird I’ve set out to roast, but at least I’ll have a table to set them both on. I’m thankful for that.