Oh, you were so looking forward to it. It was going to be something special that you shared with your family and friends. If you're really skilled at it's preparation, you'll be their host year after year - because it's important that it comes out right. You know what I'm talking about: the Thanksgiving turkey.
Now, it's Monday and that same group that cheered me on to local roasting fame is catching on to how I am trying to put turkey in every meal to get rid of the leftovers. It's been going on all weekend.
Thursday Dinner: Beautiful meal and everyone is full of tryptophan and gravy. Make that serotonin, body, and give me that after dinner high that only the holiday meal can provide. Yay!
Thursday Night: Mmm...the family is sort of hungry again. Maybe a bit of turkey and stuffing, guys? Sure! Everyone loved the turkey! Satisfaction clouds fill the room. At least I hope it is satisfaction clouds. Probably the last time I can confidently say the word "turkey."
One son had to work; fixed a care package of holiday fixings and delivered it.
Friday Lunch: Anybody want to go out for lunch? No? Of course not. My men avoid Black Friday like the plague. Maybe that is why they called it "Black Death." How about some Chinese? Made at home? I've got rice, onions, carrots, peppers, water chestnuts, bok choy and you-know-what. Somebody grab the soy sauce! Are you with me? Let's hit it! Hey, come on!
Friday Dinner: I don't think I can pull it off tonight, I caught my hubby scowling at the Tupperware container of white meat. Shazzbatt. I lay low and shoot for Saturday.
Saturday Lunch: Turkey sandwiches, anyone? Mayo? Lettuce? Caught Gonzo heating up a can of ravioli. Wow. He is desperate.
Saturday Dinner: Turkey potential is high; this stuff won't last forever. Enticed the huddle masses with a batch of mashed potatoes. Talked it up like a pro. I should have gone into Public Relations or Sales. I'd be rich. More turkey disappears.
Sunday Lunch: Gave them a breather. Even I know when I am pushing my luck.
Sunday Dinner: Gonzo is not home. That means it's just me and Hubzam and I know he hates to waste food. Sauteing onions and celery...chicken stock...added a bit of garlic and a touch of poultry seasoning...a bit of carrot...diced turkey. Mmmmm...it smells wonderful. Heated leftover rice and scooped a hot, delicious scoop of the magic mixture on top. Hubzam looked at me like I had lost my ever lovin' mind while he made himself a salad. He thinks if he fails to make eye contact a second time, I will go away. Wrong, so wrong.
Monday, and I'm defeated. There's no way they will eat turkey and you know what that means? I'm calling her in from the sidelines, the one who will never let me down when it comes to leftover meat....
"COCOOOOO! Come here, girl, Mama has a treat for you."
Now I'm the Queen of America, according to my husband.