Before I start this I just want to say for the record, our family dynamics state that I have never and probably will never host a Thanksgiving dinner. That being said, offer a thank you to Writer’s Digest for their little creative writing prompt and…. here we go:
For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store,
I wanted the holiday to be the best. Who wouldn’t? The turkey had to be the biggest. There had to be all the traditional holiday staples. Everything had to be neat and proper. The napkins ironed, the tablecloth neatly pressed.
I looked over the spread on the table and decided that while she may not be proud, Martha Stewart would be okay with it. The turkey was gorgeous on the table. I called the family in and stood back and watched. Everyone was properly trained and oohed and aahed at all the right items. I nearly giggled as the thought of desert. I gestured for my husband to take the seat of honor (or dishonor) in front of the turkey.
Nobody liked carving the turkey and he shot me a glare as he took the seat. He didn’t say a word but began to robotically carve slice after slice from the great bird. There was a hum to the room as everyone struck up their own conversations.
No one really noticed anything was going to go wrong until it actually happened. There had been no clues. No one had been angry. No one had admitted to not being anything but the best of friends that holiday. Really, that in itself should have been the only clue needed.
We all stared in surprise as a large glob of the beautiful mashed potatoes appeared on Jessica’s face. I was mortified but nobody had eyes for anyone besides Jessica. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down Ronald in front of her.
“How dare you,” she hissed, not even realizing that he wasn’t anywhere near the bowl of mashed potatoes. Nobody moved and could only watch as the cranberry sauce went flying. As the red slime slid down the undeserving, it was taken as a sign by the others.
I cried as I saw all my perfect dishes upset and used as projectiles. Before long there was ham hanging from the chandelier, there was stuffing in the sconces on the wall, there were streaks of yellow where the macaroni and cheese had slid down the wall only to land on the floor. Each and every person that had once been seated around the table were either standing reloading projectiles or cowering behind the chairs.
I myself found myself with turkey for a hat and a smug husband sitting behind the turkey carcass.
Eventually little Anna Bell at the foot of the table snorted in laughter. One by one everyone laughed at the absurdity of the whole evening. It would definitely be one for the photo albums, which dear Allen was quickly making sure of with his ever handy blasted camera.
And that’s why we all ate hamburgers.
Visit: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/and-thats-why-we-all-ate-hamburgers-this-thanksgiving to see the prompt and try it yourself if you like.