Saturday, November 27, 2010

I love a good challenge...

Sadie from RitIC sent out this challenge, and you know how I like a challenge...

The Challenge:
A lawyer, a mixed martial arts champion and a drag queen all came to Thanksgiving at my house.Punch line to be named later...I will tell you there was one bloody lip...One really drunk person...One person sleeping on the sofa...A lot of spilled drinks....and no one had a nose ring. 250 words or less. Go BIG.

(I cut as much as I could, but 250 words or, no. Also, this is in no way autobiographical...we had our own share of TDay madness, but nothing like this.)

The cheese by-product was squeezed into celery, and the rolls weren’t burned. The kids were somewhere in the house, frying their brains with video games and possibly Scotchguard. The smell of pies wafted through the house like so many memories of calories past.

I bustled around the house, kicking socks under the couch and hiding just-now-occurring-to-me-to-be tacky items in closets I hoped no one would open. I was feeling the strain of the day, and as I rounded the corner, my slippers (don’t judge) caused me to skid a little as I went around the corner. I thought briefly of my frazzled hair and pre-Thanksgiving lack of dieting and compared myself to the short, fat cartoon witch who sheds hairpins and a cackle at every corner she takes. I took a slug of my wine (Again, with the judging). I cackled my best impersonation of the witch to myself, just because I had already been in the wine. My beloved looked around the wall from where he lay on the couch and gave an odd look and a shake of his head. The look said “woman, you have got a lot of layers..”

The doorbell rang and I whirled around and raced to the door. When I opened it, there stood my old college boyfriend Charlene (formerly Charlie), holding a foil wrapped ham under his arm like a football, and decked out in some manner of printed mu-mu and a fabulous hat...and beard. He followed me into the kitchen where I refilled my empty glass of wine as if it were my first..or, second.   I perched upon a kitchen stool and ignored that weird burning plastic smell. I was developing a bit of a alcohol-induced lean and told myself I would slow down on the refills. I took a long slug and said,  “So Charlene... how’s tricks?”

I was showing Charlene my skidding, cackling witch impersonation when the doorbell rang. It was odd, since Charlene was to be our only guest. I went to the door and peered out the glass. Peering back at me was what can only be described as a man-gorilla. He wore a TAPOUT T-shirt (which I recognized from the redneck channel) and was covered in muscles. I could further see that he had no neck and the bridge of his nose had decided to retire. He had his head cocked to the side and looked impatient.  He had one cauliflower-ed ear pressed near the jam of the door, listening to me breathing on the other side.  Eek... I opened the door a crack, as if he couldn’t break the entire thing down with one shove. “Y-y-yeesss?” I inquired meekly. “Lady, lemme in. I gotta eat dinner with your sick kid..”. ???  My sick kid? I let the giant into the foyer where, as he explained the Make-a-Wish program, I considered the ways in which my very healthy son would become terminal...after I finished this wine.

My son was like a schoolgirl around “Hans the Destroyer”.  I couldn’t bring myself to explain what was so wrong with my parenting that my son would lie about such a thing, so I filled up my wine glass again and thought.... F.... it. It could have been the wine talking.  The weird smell was still lingering, but the food was all done so I went to get my beloved off of the couch to carve the bird.
My husband wouldn’t wake up. I shook, prodded, cajoled and even cursed and nothing. Well, snoring, but nothing concrete. I even told him there was a topless model joining us, but he said he didn’t care to see Charlene’s nipples...again. Fine. FINE....!

I asked Hans to carve the turkey, but instead he just ripped it apart with his bare hands. It was mesmerizing, if not a little unsanitary. The sheer force of ripping off the legs sent all of the drinks flying (luckily, I had switched to drinking out of the bottle(s)). A bit of medical drama occurred when Hans and my son shared the wishbone and my son tugged so hard he punched his own nose.  Hans said he knew just what to do and made my son sit on a stool in the corner, stuffed a couple of tampons up his nostrils and made him rinse his mouth with water and spit in a bucket. Problem solved. We all got a hunk of meat and threw some instant mashed potatoes and other crud on the fine Chinet.  

While we ate and I cackled some more, I heard the doorbell ring again. What the hell? I stumbled over to answer it and there stood an uptight looking fellow in a suit. I slammed the door and went back to the table. My guests looked at me quietly. “ I mUsH bE dRuNk..” I slurred. “ThErE’s a LaWyEr OnA fRoN pOrSh...”

The whole table busted out laughing and shaking their heads. They knew I was drunk; no one invited a lawyer to their Thanksgiving....

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