Thanksgiving is over. I’m relieved.
It was a meal that didn’t live up to expectations.
The turkey tasted gamey. It should have lived.
The apple pie was limp and fell into a heap when on the plate.
I cancelled the mashed potatoes this year. It was already a carb fest without them, why did we need more? was my line of thinking.
Never mess with tradition.
The kids complained, my husband frowned, and the dog howled.
“There’s no place for the gravy,” my son, the traditionalist said.
“The turkey is naked without it,” Alf said.
“I came for the gravy, now where do I put it?” said my friend.
“The Pilgrims didn’t make gravy,” I said.
“They didn’t make cranberry and orange relish either, and I see that on the table,” said Alf.
I was skewered. In my own kitchen.