After coming out of the food comma is where you start getting mad at yourself for having a Thanksgiving in the first place. "Why did I do this?" Standing there looking at your kitchen sink filled with nothing but pots, pans, and silverware that you just HAD to use. "Next year it's going to be different. I'm going somewhere else." Until you realize if you want to have one, it's your house or nowhere.
As you begin tackling the dirty dishes you're cussing yourself all throughout them. "Never doing this again! The hell with my family." You scrub, and scrub wondering why you didn't soak them before going to bed. Then you remember passing out from food exhaustion and not getting back up once people left. Then you start cussing them out because they didn't offer to clean your house. "Why would they do that? That would have been nice. Me cooking all day, didn't even bring anything to add to dinner, and not offer. Psh! To hell with this." Swearing off Thanksgiving would be easy, but then you remember you only have family dinners every few months. Funerals. Thanksgiving. Christmas.
With a soaked shirt you finally finish the dishes and flop down on the couch just as you feel your stomach growl. "How can I possibly be hungry after last night?" You toss it off as a mind trick, because there can be no way you're hungry. The food comma last night had to keep you full for at least a week. But after five minutes of lying to yourself you decide you're hungry.
Standing in front of the ice box you wonder to yourself what will you do with the leftovers? Throwing it to the dog may come across your mind a few times. In the end you decide just to grab a plate and warm it up. Eat it like you did the night before and hope and pray you don't pass out again.
Okay, so we did deep fry a 20 pound turkey in a fryer made for 16 pounds or less. We did NOT end up with turkey jerky. It actually turned out really well. We may have to do it again soon.
And I only cut myself once during the whole five hours of cooking.
I had a good day, though. I love to cook so that's always a plus. And I love my family, or at least most of them. My step-brother aggravates the moohaw (that's my new word) out of me. And that whole thing isn't the whole "my daddy is now his daddy and I'm jealous". It's the "I have tried and tried but there is no amount in me that can make me like him". I tolerate my step-mother as much as I can. But I can not, for any reason, like my step-brother.
I hate the way he walks. Talks. Holds a plate. Says my name. Talks to my dad. Sits in a car. Puts on a shoe. Plays with his toys, and yes I mean toys. Oh you're thinking he younger and I should just accept he may grow out of it. No, he's eighteen, newly turned, and still plays with figurines. Not just "oh I am going to collect them", but instead "I'm going to play with them in the floor laying on my stomach." Then there is him laying on his back in our front room floor wiggling his legs and arms above him for like an hour. So out of curiosity I ask his mother, "what is he doing?" Her response, "he is a turtle trying to roll back over onto his feet." Seriously? She finally got irritated at watching him and told him to get up.
I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to be about my step-brother, huh? I just really needed to vent, I guess.
Thanksgiving was awesome though. My dad was over and I love him to pieces. My nephew was here, and he is just so darn cute; cannot help but love being around him. My brother, of course, was here. You know, because it's his house. We were hoping my grandfather would be here to celebrate with his but decided against it since he had to work the day before and the day after. Which he has been trying for two months to get a few days off so he could drive here. But of course his job shafted him.
I had a lot more to talk about a minute ago, but for some reason forgot. heh! Maybe if I sit here and stare long enough I may remember what I was going to write.
Okay, maybe not. :)
Love until later.