| General Non-Fiction posted July 6, 2019 | Chapters: |
...13 14 -15- 16... 
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Fantasy versus Reality
A chapter in the book A Fly on the Wall
On Thanksgiving Traditions
by Rachelle Allen
| Background Everyday musings and assessments about people and situations I experience. |
November 23, 2016
The Fantasy: I am a world-renowned writer and media mogul, and I am on my private yacht, headed to my private island off the coast of Hawaii on this Thanksgiving Day with my husband and one hundred of our closest friends. We are being waited on hand and foot, plied with nothing but the best food and drink. Best of all, no matter what I ingest, I don't gain an ounce. Oh, and even though there's back-spray from the yacht and it's humid, my hair looks perfect.
The Reality: It's Wednesday night, and I am not only sporting a frizzy ponytail, ratty sweats, and a full frontal apron like my grandmother used to wear, but I'm also up to my elbows in turkey cavity, scrubbing it down and dislodging all the tiny little packages of organs left behind by the butcher. These are commodities which --oddly-- my husband likes to fry up and eat as if he's Daniel Boone or something. ("Mmmm! The heart and liver are so full of IRON for me! Very healthy, and they taste really good!") [Had I known this on July 26, 1999, when we met, our history could have been very different, indeed.] He does, at least, have the decency, when devouring these entrails, to (a) Use utensils and (b) Refrain from growling like a feral little beast as they slide down his gullet.
Because my husband's family prefers leftovers to an oven-fresh Thanksgiving Day bird, I roast our turkey the night before and hack it into sandwich-sized slabs. Then I make soup with the carcass and serve both up the next day with sides of sausage-infused stuffing, homemade bread for sandwiches, hand-cut sweet potato fries, and several desserts. Afterward, I'll do dishes for an hour and a half. But the day won't be complete until I hear my husband sigh loudly from the Man Cave and say, "I just love Thanksgiving! It's so RELAXING!"
[Additional Fantasy: I immediately duct tape said man to his Barcalounger and make him listen to opera until he agrees to my ransom demand of underwriting all my Black Friday purchases.]
The Fantasy: I am a world-renowned writer and media mogul, and I am on my private yacht, headed to my private island off the coast of Hawaii on this Thanksgiving Day with my husband and one hundred of our closest friends. We are being waited on hand and foot, plied with nothing but the best food and drink. Best of all, no matter what I ingest, I don't gain an ounce. Oh, and even though there's back-spray from the yacht and it's humid, my hair looks perfect.
The Reality: It's Wednesday night, and I am not only sporting a frizzy ponytail, ratty sweats, and a full frontal apron like my grandmother used to wear, but I'm also up to my elbows in turkey cavity, scrubbing it down and dislodging all the tiny little packages of organs left behind by the butcher. These are commodities which --oddly-- my husband likes to fry up and eat as if he's Daniel Boone or something. ("Mmmm! The heart and liver are so full of IRON for me! Very healthy, and they taste really good!") [Had I known this on July 26, 1999, when we met, our history could have been very different, indeed.] He does, at least, have the decency, when devouring these entrails, to (a) Use utensils and (b) Refrain from growling like a feral little beast as they slide down his gullet.
Because my husband's family prefers leftovers to an oven-fresh Thanksgiving Day bird, I roast our turkey the night before and hack it into sandwich-sized slabs. Then I make soup with the carcass and serve both up the next day with sides of sausage-infused stuffing, homemade bread for sandwiches, hand-cut sweet potato fries, and several desserts. Afterward, I'll do dishes for an hour and a half. But the day won't be complete until I hear my husband sigh loudly from the Man Cave and say, "I just love Thanksgiving! It's so RELAXING!"
[Additional Fantasy: I immediately duct tape said man to his Barcalounger and make him listen to opera until he agrees to my ransom demand of underwriting all my Black Friday purchases.]
 Recognized |
#119 2019 |
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