I guess it is appropriate that I’m writing this post almost a week after the actual holiday, since it’s a testament to my procrastinating DNA.  a few years ago I went home for Thanksgiving and my dad was all excited to cook a big turkey dinner for my sister and me.  He spent all day preparing the meal.  He may have also spent most of the day sipping wine which would explain the next part of my story.  He prepared the turkey, put it into the oven, and set the timer.

I spent the afternoon making mashed potatoes and chopping veggies.  Dad said he’d put the stuffing in when the turkey was done.  About 5pm I asked, “how’s the turkey looking?” I peeked into the oven expecting to smell the delectable aroma of roasting bird.  What greeted me was a pale peachy shiny RAW bird.  The oven was cold.

Dad had forgotten to turn the oven on.

“Jeeezuschristsonovabitch.”

We had a delicious turkey dinner at midnight.  At least there was plenty of wine.