I can’t cook a turkey. Well, what I mean is, I don’t like cooking a turkey.
I try very hard to end up at someone’s house for Thanksgiving.
Trouble is, when we get back, the very next weekend, Mr. Downeastdoingstuff suggests we cook a turkey so that we have his favorite thing.....leftovers! He gets bummed out when we don’t have left over turkey for turkey sandwiches because we’ve managed to go to someone elses house for Thanksgiving.
So guess who cooks a turkey the next weekend so that Mr. Downeastdoingstuff is happy? I like Mr. Downeastdoingstuff when he’s happy.
BUT.....To me, handling a turkey is like fondling a corpse. It’s too dang big to be food. (see above photo) (Right?)
I know, I know.....I eat beef and cows are, in fact, much bigger than turkeys. But I don’t put a cow’s lifeless, cold carcass, sans fur, into my sink. And then stick my hand into it’s innards to pull out more innards. How disgusting would that be?
Well, a turkey is the same. Whole chickens I can handle, barely, but I can. A hamburger is no problem. Even hotdogs don’t gross me out. And they probably should......
So we’re going to my cousin’s for turkey. Driving over 350 miles so that I don’t have to touch someone’s dead skin. It’ll be worth it.
But who am I kidding? You know what I’ll be doing next weekend. Sigh.
Unless.........someone invites us over to their house to eat next weekend.
Right, Donna?
