The decorations for Christmas are up and the countdown to Thanksgiving has just begun. I know there is something not quite right about that, but it is what it is. I’m in a new house and will be doing some entertaining over this holiday season, so I wanted to be well prepared instead of crazy-legged, as I normally am.
With everything in it’s place, I decide to trot to the store for a turkey. Mind you, the crowd at my house will be small, as my son is in Guam and my daughter-in-law is excitedly awaiting her parents arrival. They will be feasting on their own turkey, fixed in the lovely tradition of the South.
And my bird? With only 3 or 4 people, I thought a bird of about 10 pounds would be enough. Plenty of leftovers for the turkey sandwiches we’d enjoy after the afternoon naps. But just inside the doors of the local Food Lion, I hear a muffled announcement that sounds something like this. “Attention shoppers! Fur ruru rur Thanksgiving rur rur rur turkeys rur rur fur pound! Buy rurrur NOW!”
A second later, I see every one in line dashing toward the back of the store. Well, I didn’t want to miss anything, so I beat feet down the health food aisle, (the least trafficked aisle in the place,) and round the corner as though I were A. J. Foyt headed to the finish line. People are climbing over each other, tugging medium-sized turkeys from the case and clutching them to their chests as though they homely children.
Not to be outdone, I drill myself under the armpit of a wide-berthed woman and latch onto a piece of plastic mesh I am sure is attached to just the turkey I had come for. All of a sudden, I feel a tug on the other end of my bird. I can only see a pair of big hands, but I know they are connected to my turkey, so I pull. In the meantime, the wide-berthed woman in whom my head is lodged decides on a tiny bird that could pass for a pigeon, just like the old woman standing beside us. As I pull on my bird, I realize from the look on the woman’s face that there are no more to be found. I am having a tug-of-war under the armpit of this wide-berthed woman, see-sawing back and forth with Big Hands, while this same woman is trying to retrieve a frozen pigeon from the basket of the old woman beside her. I feel the grip of Big Hands start to give way, when all of a sudden, the old woman swings around, her basket hitting the wide-berth woman and knocking her into the freezer with me attached under her arm. My turkey flies loose sending Big Hands into the milk counter and the turkey into Wide-berth. It took several minutes for the horrified crowd to react to the situation, but by the time the store manager arrived, we were all upright again.
Too embarrassed to glance up at the crows or the bird, I tossed my turkey into my cart and ran toward the cashier. $36.63 was the total. A Butterball. Big. Fat. Butterball. All 37 pounds of her.
Let’s just say I’ll be eating turkey until Easter.