Shamelessly stolen from Her Bad Mother.
I can't eat turkey. It gives me a migraine. Every year, I have all the other stuff - not that I'm complaining, because, really, who complains over having to eat more mashed potatoes, more stuffing and more cranberry sauce? Not me, that's for damned skippy.
This year, though, is different. This year, we didn't go anywhere for Thanksgiving. This year, I had to drive That Canadian Boy I Married to the airport for a 6 a.m. flight. I got up at 3:45 a.m., people. Three-forty-fucking-five.
This year, I'm roasting a chicken, thanks to Joke's recipe, or what I can remember of it, having lost the original in a move, I made a pumpkin pie, I mashed potatoes, I'm making carrots with cranberries and some stuffing. I got to watch the entire Macy's Day Parade (is it only me that calls it that? Because I swear that's what it was called when I was a kid) and tonight I'll have the television all to myself. Note: There will be no football.
And then tomorrow, I get to be at Big Box Store for 5:45 in the freakin' morning, to deal with all the lunatics who will run thru the place like Visigoths on speed.
I'll just keep singing this, though. Because this? Was the highlight of my morning.