The Best of Strange Thinking
You know how it plays out. That bountiful Thanksgiving meal comes to an end when everyone at the table finally allows their fork to rest on the plate before them, rubbing their bellies and handing out compliments to the cook. Pumpkin pie will come later, half-time most likely. As the two-minute warning sounds, guests begin grouping together with their respective immediate families and express their need to head home before that promised blue norther hits.
Just as all coats are buttoned and zipped, the hostess throws up her hands.
"Now, Y'all have to take some of these leftovers home with you. We'd never eat all this!"
And that's why I never put my coat on until I'm out the door.
Tupperware bowls appear and food is ladled into them in heaping portions, doled out to the family favorites, of course. Recycled butter bowls filled with leftover feast then go to those next in the line of family royalty...and then there's me.
I get food in plastic bags. Do you have any idea what deviled eggs look like after riding fifty miles in a plastic bag in the trunk of your car? Trust me, those deviled eggs are never coming out of that bag. And cranberry sauce! I consume less than one ounce of cranberry sauce in a whole year and that's only because it's some sort of law that you have to eat it on Thanksgiving. I got a gallon bag full of it! Giblet gravy in a ziplock bag...is not a pretty sight. And, pray tell, what is in this bag?
Oh, I know why I come in at the bottom of the Thanksgiving food chain. I'm the single person in the family! And because I may have forgotten to return that corning ware bowl in 2001, as the hostess reminded me as she spooned sweet potatoes into a baggie. I ignored her vicious stare as she made the statement, but went on the defensive as she continued babbling about some crockpot of hers I supposedly had.
"I don't have your damn crockpot! I don't even know what to do with one!"
I bit my tongue and quickly fell silent. After all, I hadn't had to cook Thanksgiving dinner, and just between me and you...I really don't want to cook it next year, either. I suppose I can deal with my designated bottom of the totem pole ranking as long as I don't have to host the Thanksgiving meal next year. It would just be my luck that my only prized corning ware bowl would find its way back to its rightful owner after all these years!
Upon arriving home with my Walmart bag full of baggies of Thanksgiving leftovers, I rearranged the fridge to accommodate it all. I stuffed baggie after baggie onto the top shelf, until not another baggie would fit. Lastly, I hefted the scrambled deviled eggs to eye level and shook my head. Glancing down at the dog standing beneath my feet, I paused in thought.