Incredible

Her:

What were they thinking when they said they would host both families for Thanksgiving? Whose idea was this anyway? Didn't she say that both sets of parents could come? That was it, she is sure she said this one night over a glass of Chardonnay, or two, that wouldn't it be lovely if their moms and dads could come and spend the holiday at their house for a change. This way they wouldn't have to travel the four hours east or west to either one of their parents' homes. This way they wouldn't be forced to choose one parent over the other. This way they would be able to spend the holiday with both sets of parents. This will teach her to drink a bottle of Chardonnay and think out loud.

Now she has a bloody raw turkey bird sitting in her kitchen sink. It has goosebumps, turkey bumps? What time should she be getting the bird into the oven? With two moms in the house, she would think she would be getting some extra help. Where are they? Now whose recipe for stuffing should she use: mother's or mother-in-law's? Who would be more hurt if she didn't use theirs? Maybe she should just make some of both. Is it too early to start drinking a glass of Chardonnay?

Him:

I can't understand why my mom and dad said yes. My sister is pissed. I think she may show up later for dinner. I better warn my wife. Nah, there's enough food. What's four more people? Thanksgiving is about family.

She's giving me a list of last minute items to pick up, so I better get going before the stores close. I bet the dads will want to come too. They might want to check out the beer and wine selections.

I don't see cookies on here. I better pick up some cookies. Or chips. I don't remember seeing snacks at the house. I better pick up some snacks. She never thinks of snacks. She only thinks about the meal. I should get Doritos. Yes, Doritos. And Cheetos. Oh, and Cheezits. And chip dip. I have to ask my dad for a pen to write this all down.

Her:

Her mom just told her that her sister is coming with her husband and their four kids and their dog. What the actual fuck. They felt left out. She said not to worry about it, there will be plenty of food and that she brought paper plates and napkins and plastic forks and spoons and knives. They should be all set. She made a list for the boys to go shopping for some last minute extras.

She has the meal preparations completed: cranberry sauce to mashed potatoes. Biscuits to gravy and warm apple pie to pumpkin pie when the door bell rings.

Him:

I didn't know her sister and family were coming, with the dog no less. The Great Dane. He is larger than our living room sofa and thinks he can lie down on our sofa too. There is now a small horse, an eleven, eight, six, and three year old running screaming around the house like wild banshees. My sister's children are so much more well behaved than this.

I hope I got enough snacks. Those kids better not eat my chip dip. Maybe I can hide it in the back of the fridge.

Her:

And the doorbell rang to let in not her sister, but his sister. His sister and her three loud, obnoxious spoiled children. If anyone ever asked why she and her husband didn't have children, these were the reason why. His sister's children, ages nine, seven, and four were all spoiled. No one, not anyone could tell them no. If their children were running into traffic, you couldn't tell them no because it would damage his or her ego. His sister's children were allowed to do anything they wanted whenever they wanted. They had no bedtimes and no rules. The less time spent with them the better. Who invited them? Did she put enough Chardonnay on the shopping list? What happened to their nice, quiet Thanksgiving with their parents?

Him:

We just went from a six person Thanksgiving to a 17 person Thanksgiving.

I get the drumstick.

No one touches the drumstick.

I get one today and one tomorrow for leftovers.

That's the rule. My house, my rules.

She just put the chips and chip dip out for the kids. Now their fingers are in the dip. They are sticking their fucking fingers in the dip and licking them off. They are licking the dip off the chips and putting the chips back into the dip! I can't even look at her. She knows what chip dip means to me. How could she?

Her:

It was the most amazing spectacle she had ever witnessed. The moms whirled into action and suddenly there was food everywhere. The sisters carried coolers in from their cars with extra fixings to contribute. There were dill and sweet pickles on a relish tray. There was a green and black olive tray. Her sister put together a tray of pink shrimp with red cocktail sauce spread over a layer of crisp green romaine lettuce.

The meal was coming together. On a cutting board was rye bread that was placed on the table next to the butter dish. Platters were filled with steaming slices of white and dark meat. Bowls of fluffy mashed potatoes, and the gravy boat filled with thick, brown gravy made by one of the moms. Corn, broccoli, and carrots added yellow, green, and orange to the table.

Plates were made, bellies were more than satisfied, and faces were smiling. Laughter rang as jokes and stories were shared around the downstairs. Some of the adults were able to sit at the table, others at the kitchen island. The Great Dane enjoyed a nice long nap on the floor so the Grandpas could sit on the sofa. Even the kids were, mostly quiet. She supposed it was having food to chew on that kept them quiet. And, she had only had one glass of Chardonnay.

"That was incredible," she said as she turned to switch off her bedside lamp. Never doing this again.

"It certainly was," he agreed. I invited them all back for Christmas!