The Thanksgiving Nightmare

Thanksgiving (not Christmas) is usually the only time of the year that the Spaghetti Family gathers. Family members travel from near and far for family togetherness, which is often counted as their annual family reunion. A family member hosts, and their home is jammed packed like a can of sardines. As imagined, tensions are thick, and personal space is not an option. Every year, this results in the Spaghetti Family’s soap opera of everyone at each other’s throats and the hosts’ home looking like a tornado hit it. Never hosting holiday dinner again.

I am Chicken Spaghetti, and it’s now my turn to host the infamous holiday dinner. As the host, I am responsible for the spread of sides, meats, and desserts. Problem is, I do not know how to cook, but with the assistance of good old-fashioned catering and one of my favorite neighbors; this is going to be the best holiday dinner yet. So, I thought.

My menu was down packed, which was one thing crossed off the list. Next, I was determined to keep a low profile and create a drama-free environment of love. I implemented an itinerary, which was to play every multiplayer game imaginable and gift the family with a special video presentation of the loved ones no longer with us. I figured if the family is having fun and crying - we could allow our joys and emotions to bring us closer together and heal past traumas.

Family started arriving in increments while dinner was set to begin at three o’clock in the afternoon. I had opened the door to my home so much that you would have thought my home was the bank. Inside my home felt like an amusement park. So many people, personalities, and laughter. As soon as three o’clock approached, I was already exhausted from opening the door and greeting family members, telling them where to place their items, and giving out hugs. However, there was nowhere to escape.

"Bon appétit." The line formed, and it was longer than those Black Friday lines at a store that advertised deals on televisions. “Sheesh.” I was concerned if I would have enough food as some family members embarked on servings of thirds - devouring their plates like hungry, hungry hippos. I was ahead of the game in being aware that it was going to be too many family members present to eat at the dining table. Therefore, it was best to utilize the table for something else. So, we had all the food on display, magazine-ready, on the dining table. Guess what? My confidence and energy levels increased as I thought to myself, “So far, so good. Everyone is on their best behavior.” I spoke too soon.

I made the executive decision to play the video presentation while we all were feasting on the delicious meal. Of course, I took credit for this hearty holiday meal. The neighbor wasn’t present in attendance, and there was no evidence exposing the fact that I had our dinner catered. What a win for me. Until it was time for dessert.

“Oh, my goodness.” The neighbor had not dropped off my desserts. How do I get them without blowing my cover as a master chef? My tactical instincts kicked in, and I was able to get the desserts in place without detection, “Close call.”

It was time for dessert and games, and by this time, it was six o’clock in the evening. I knew this would be the organized fun I planned on my itinerary. Every single dessert dish disappeared like being in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. “Guess it was scrumptious too.”

We began to play a classic game of truth or dare. I was not nervous about this game selection since if our family was a boat on the lake - everything was sailing smooth (peaceful), no crashing waves (drama), and no detours (arguments). I was, however, feeling funny, though, which had nothing to do with the family’s behavior. Internally, I was feeling like I was floating in the air like a balloon, but I kept quiet about it and kept smiling. As the game was being played, I was physically present, but my mind started to uncontrollably wander. For instance, I envisioned myself being a bird flying in the air, not knowing the directions to get to my destination but trying to figure out a way to obtain a human’s phone to use their GPS. “This is abnormal, what is happening, the matrix? So, for however long my imaginative thinking lasted, once I came back into focus, the truth or dare game was actively in session. Then, I heard familiar words, I’m “feeling funny.” To my surprise, each family member felt funny…even the children. You see, this feeling was not an awful feeling, but it was different from our natural body states.

We attempted to resume the game, but something was happening. Suddenly, it dawned on me that I never asked the neighbor about the dessert’s ingredients. I had a small spoonful, but my family members slaughtered it. My feeling had gone away. “Oh no!” Someone shouted we are here. Feeling like the only sane one in the house, I asked and shouted, “where?” The Spaghetti family thought they arrived at a RESORT. I understood that there may have been a bad reaction to one of the dessert’s ingredients, but just because they traveled to my home doesn’t mean they reached a resort location. This is my home, not a resort. As I began to sigh, another family member shouted, let's get out and go in. They were already inside. Okay, gig’s up. I was sure that I was being pranked as I looked for a hidden camera. As I was slowly moving my head to scan the room for the hidden cameras, everyone headed towards the dining table. The food was still magazine-ready, and there was plenty of it leftover, so even though it was strange - I thought everyone was hungry again. Nope. Someone said that they forgot their swimsuit while they were all standing around the table. I had enough at this point because the prank, joke, or whatever it was had gone too far. After much patience, all I could do was laugh hysterically. I never recalled the family pranking any of the other hosts in the past, but whoever’s idea this was deserves an innovator of the year award. After the no swimsuit revelation, another family member had a solution, which was to swim in undergarments. Some members of the family began to strip down into their undergarments and said that they were headed to the pool. There was not one single pool in the inside of my home, but I couldn’t help myself to see just where they thought the pool was. 

Other family members said they were going to go skiing instead. Once again, the weather was winter on the outside, but I had the heat thermostat on inside my home. Playing along, I interrupted and asked, “Where’s the ski equipment?” They told me that everything was provided by the resort. I chuckled.

Amongst all the excitement, I heard some discuss golfing and massages. The children even spoke up and said they were going to the magical cave. I thought I knew exactly where the magic cave was in the house. So, I said, “Use it one at a time,” thinking I would express my own form of humor. The children responded that everyone could fit inside the cave. I was starting to give up because the children were in on the prank also, obviously—there’s only one commode.

My annoyance was interrupted when I heard a big splash. The swimmers' clan had jumped into the turkey gravy. I couldn’t believe my eyes or my reality. Everyone was in their undergarments swimming like it was a swim meet. What could I say—"Why is the pool brown?" They were having a ball, and all I wanted was a low-profile, Thanksgiving dinner.

As I was walking away from that section of the dining room table, I heard one of the children ask me for a flashlight. Wondering why they needed a flashlight when the chandelier overhead was gleaming as bright as looking directly at the sun without sunglasses. When I looked in their direction, the kids were inside the turkey. Somehow the turkey was a magical adventure with hidden treasures and secret messages that only a flashlight could reveal. All I could do was walk away and succeed at not allowing these family members to continue testing my patience.

To no avail, something else was lurking on the side of the table where the mashed potatoes were. Surely, we couldn’t forget about the ski crew. Hot, buttery creamed mashed potatoes became the landmark of ski madness, not March madness. Family members thought it was snow. They were using knives as skis and forks as their snowboards. Any lumps in the potatoes were the slopes. I stayed quiet and passed it by only to run right into the golfers. Welp, I knew the spoons would be utilized for something at their resort. The spoons were golf clubs, and they were golfing in the collard greens. Someone shouted that they got a hole-in-one, and since I was interested in seeing what the golf ball looked like—it was one of the diced onions in the collards. Wow. The red pepper flakes were the flags to mark the holes. I was as quiet as a mouse when I decided to mosey away.

From a distance, as I was approaching the end of the dining table, I could hear the tone of what an irate customer would sound like if they were unhappy with their service or product. Turns out, the ladies were not satisfied with their massages. They complained that the intensity level of this massage was as gentle as them lying on a pillow. Dinner rolls are not hot stones or massage rollers. They are just rolls, duh.

I had heard it all, seen it all, and needed fresh air. I went charging for the front door but slipped and fell before I could make it out of the dining room. Outside of their resort illusion, the real-life reality looked like an explosion. Thanksgiving fixings were everywhere. I slipped on mashed potatoes and gravy marinating in pools of water. I stood corrected, Indeed…I had pools inside my home. Not only did mashed potatoes and gravy cover the wall like several coats of paint, the collard greens stuck to the walls also like polka dots. The collards must have grown legs since the polka dots were even splattered on the other side of the room. It was Uncle Cletus’ catastrophe golf swing. His swing makes a gash so deep that the earth’s troposphere (the layer beneath the ground) is affected. Now that’s deep. Wait. I’m not actually rationalizing with the resort craziness; let me look at my dining room again. My dining table was broken and shattered, resembling a broken mirror. The dining chairs vanished without a trace, not leaving any evidence of damage or existence. I'll look for them later. As if the walls weren’t the worst, the ceiling won the grand prize. Glop was seeping from the ceiling onto the floor. The longer I stood not mobilized, the more I was covered in Thanksgiving slime. That’s what it was, that’s what it looked like…and it stunk. Everyone was covered and looked like wet noodles. You know what happened next.

The kids were crying. The adults were mad and shouted how they wanted their money-back and how their family resort trip was cut short. I tried to be patient and understanding, but everyone had to leave my home. Yep.

 I kicked them out, in their conditions, and without leftovers, of course. My home was a wreck, and I lost my cool. I yelled, screamed, shouted all while slipping on food. I instructed everyone to get out of my home. I will not tell you what else I did, but they deserved it. (Talk about being at each other’s throats.) My top had blown so high that I didn’t want anyone helping me to clean. By the time I threw everyone out…I meant, instructing them to leave, I was exhausted in every emotion imaginable. My mental needed a lifeline or life support. The best solution for me was to soak, bathe, shower, and go to bed. Upon wake up, breakfast, and dressing myself, I would file an insurance claim, call every handyman and house cleaner in the state of Italian. (Oh, I forgot to mention I live in the state of Italian.)

It’s a new day. Who would have known that ‘I’ would be the one (not them at each other’s.) to be at everyone’s throats, but my patience was tested. I failed. Never again will I host a holiday meal. By the way, I never found out what the ingredients were in those desserts. I found out that my chairs were in the garage. How they got there, I have no idea, but I was so focused on patience through the chaos that an alien could have entered my home and abducted my electronic devices, and I would’ve noticed. As a matter of fact, I am upset that I couldn’t blow a whistle to summon the spaceship to relieve me from the Thanksgiving disaster. “Take me or my family members but not both.” I had to go see how the dining room settled overnight. I just knew that everything would have solidified and be as hard as concrete.

It was a long walk downstairs. One filled with darkness and gloom…Oh. The lights were off, blinds were closed, and the blackout curtains were on duty (blocking sunlight). As I flipped on a light to illuminate my path into the dining room…I woke up never seeing the grand reveal. It was only a nightmare. The day was Thanksgiving Eve. I'll tell you one thing though; I’d take the family being at each other’s throats because at least they don’t bring the food into it. I am never hosting a holiday dinner after that nightmare, so “Don’t ask.”