Saturday 01 Oct 2016

Hostest with Mostest
Jennifer Flaten

Let me just say that Thanksgiving seems a very long way away in January. It doesn't help that January is historically a boring month.

There are no parties and all the cookies are gone, so planning a get together that is months away, many, many months away, is a nice little distraction to pass a gloomy day.

This explains the wild promises I made to host this year's Thanksgiving feast. I was obviously suffering from a bad reaction to fruitcake. Hey, it works for the stars, why can't it work for me?

Well, it doesn't matter why I volunteered. It is mostly likely because I am a fruitcake. As evidenced by the fact that I jumped up and waved my hand around shouting, "Pick me! Pick me!" when it was time to select this year's host.

At the time I volunteered myself I assumed that either I would be dead by the coming Thanksgiving (thus unable to host) or that the Mayan calendar was off by a year or so and we would all be dead (thus eliminating the holiday altogether).

Alas neither of my predictions came true, another reason why I don't bet on the ponies.

Anyway, that is how I found myself pawing through a cavernous cold case looking for the perfect turkey-for the record the "perfect" turkey doesn't exist.

Much like Goldilocks, I found something wrong with each turkey. From the 50lb monstrosity, where would I store it, to the ten-pound "turkey," which I am sure was a chicken with an identity crisis. I discarded them all.

I did finally find a bird that would do. He is currently residing in my deep freeze, but eventually I will have to haul him up and defrost him.

Oh boy! I can't wait to hear the kids ask me if the giant iceberg of bird defrosted, yet, every time they open the fridge, which is many, many times a day.

Can I just state for the record, that putting a procrastinator in charge of the holiday meal is asking for trouble.

As we all know, I should have purchased many of the supplies I needed for this shindig in July, you try finding a cute turkey tablecloth 4 days before Thanksgiving.

I do have small children, so the entertainment portion of the day is taken care of, who doesn't like kids in construction paper Pilgrim hats.

Okay, maybe a significant portion of the world isn't keen on a dramatic retelling of the landing on Plymouth Rock, but as the song says, it's my party and I'll bore you if I want to.

Luckily, I also have said children available to help me spruce up the house, after all 99% of the mess is directly attributable to them. Don't worry, it isn't child labor, if you are using them to get the house ready for a holiday, I checked.

Moreover, this gives me an excuse to put the new stove through its paces. I admit I am a little worried; no one likes their leaf on the family tree to note that they are the one who poisoned everyone at Thanksgiving.

I am just happy I have the damn turkey. I can fake everything else, especially if I ply the guests with enough wine.

Jennifer Flaten lives where the local delicacy is fried cheese, Wisconsin. She writes about family life, its amusing or not so amusing moments. "At least it's not another article on global warming," she says. Jennifer bakes a mean banana bread and admits an unusual attraction to balloon animals and cup cakes. Busy preparing for the zombie apocalypse, she stills finds time to write "As I See It," her witty, too often true column. "My urge to write," says Jennifer, "is driven by my love of cupcakes, with sprinkles on top. Who wouldn't write for cupcakes, with sprinkles," she wonders.

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