First off, Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday. I know mine’s been pretty good. We went to a seafood restaurant this year. Don’t worry, it was a buffet, and they had plenty of tradition Turkey Day pickings. I made sure to eat enough turkey to give me my customary turkey coma. I’ve had a good time this year.
However, this post is not about this year.
I know Thanksgiving can kind of stink for some people. All that family around and beer consumed can lead to a pretty uncomfortable day. But at my house, Thanksgiving is usually great. We’re usually on our own, and if we aren’t, everyone just goes to sleep after dinner (at noon). So, it’s great.
Last year was not great. Last year actually kind of stunk. There are actually two reasons for this. One was not my fault, and the other definitely was.
I’ll start with the first, not-my-fault reason that last year’s Thanksgiving was a bust. My dad was in the middle of having gall bladder problems. I can’t remember whether he had just had it removed or was just about to. Either way, it led to him not really wanting to eat a horribly fatty (and therefore delicious) Thanksgiving meal. So, he left early.
I also left early. My stomach was also hurting me. However, unlike my dad’s gall bladder hurting, which was entirely inescapable and not the result of anything he had done, my belly ache was entirely my stupid fault. I’m sure you can sense the next episode of “stupid things Susannah does” coming on. You can click here to read the last one.
It all started the day before. I was in my room studying, and I noticed that it was about 1pm and I hadn’t had lunch (bear with me; it gets better). I got up and put a “beefaroni” cup in the microwave and set it to the usual two minutes. Two minutes later, I pulled the still-boiling cup out of the microwave and began the mad dash to my room to avoid burning my fingers (remember that part). I made it to my room and set the cup down on a book on my bedside table. I took the cap off to let it cool. “Oh, it’s still boiling,” I remarked to myself.
And then it happened. I turned around for just a second and I heard something slipping. Then, I did what anyone would do. I immediately whipped around to catch my falling food. That was still boiling. With my naked hand. Yeah…
Surprise, I burnt my hand! Apparently that’s what happens when you splash boiling spaghetti sauce on your hand. I stood for a moment in shock, and then I calmly set down my food. And then I howled. And I hopped around my room waving my hand in the air like a wild woman (flinging sauce to every corner*). I may or may not have screamed profanities at my food at the top of my lungs. I honestly can’t remember.
I do remember my mom coming in and helping me clean up and then did what moms do best, telling me to “run it under some cold water.” I soaked my hand for a good long time. Then, my mom butchered one of our aloe plants and spread some gooey aloe slime on my hand and then wrapped it up. I started to feel a bit better after that.
Now, if this was the story off any normal person, it would end there, but no. This is my story and I am a massive dork.
Later that day, I bought myself a bag of Bugles, because I was feeling sorry for myself. When I finished said bag, I licked the salt off my fingers, fingers that had aloe smeared all over them. The next day, Thankgiving, I discovered that my digestive system does not like aloe. I spent the whole day curled up in bed wondering why I had been made so clumsy.
That’s pretty much the whole story. The good news is that this Thanksgiving has been much better. I’ve stuffed my face with sea food and Pilgrim food, and I even managed to avoid hurting myself. A good day in my book.
*P.S. A year later, I am actually still finding little dried spots of sauce throughout my room.