There’s got to be a morning after.

Happy, a day late, Thanksgiving. I had a decent day, as I hope all of you had at least.

Why only decent you ask? That’s a funny story. Well, for you.  Let me explain.

Okay, my mother was running late getting ready and whatnot, so she asked me to make the green bean casserole, which was what we were supposed to bring. Now, I don’t care for the stuff, given my lifelong prejudice against green beans. (I feel the bitter sting of irony considering they grow like a weed in my garden.) But other’s feel differently. Anyway, I started making it, feeling a little like the Swedish Chef — a feeling that always predates disaster.

I should have taken it as a sign when I opened up those french onion things and they went everywhere — I mean everywhere! That should have been a sign for me to stop right there, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. But, I have issues with reading these sorts of signs outside of books. So kept blithely moving along.

Since I don’t like the stuff, I don’t make it often, understandably so. I wasn’t 100% sure of what to do, and we don’t believe in recipes around these here parts. It ended up a little soupy, so I pulled out a can of the homecanned green beans that I’d grown this summer, and my mother had canned. I opened the can, dumped it in, and suddenly something started to smell a little funky. I got my mother, asked her if she smelled it too — I wanted to make sure I wasn’t having a stroke or something like that. She did, and as we got closer and closer to the bowl it got stronger and stronger.

We stuck our heads in the bowl and came up heaving.

Oh god, the green beans had been improperly canned, and I’d forgotten to smell them. That was the most vile, wretched, revolting smell that I’ve ever come in contact with, and my mother agreed. (Remember, she had two kids and used to be a babysitter.) She threw it, along with her morning coffee away. I was barfing in the sink that I cleaned it in. I was in the backyard at one point, fertilizing the holly, and the neighbors said, “Hi Garret, Happy Thanksgiving!”

I felt a little bad as I threw up in their general direction while I waved.

Other than that though, things went well. I was able to eat dinner, though I did feel the bile rise as I passed the green beans. This further proves that Thanksgiving cannot go off without a hitch. One year my aunt was horribly sick, my grandfather died the next year(On Thanksgiving day), same aunt was ill again the year after — with others this time, my sister was in a car accident the next year, and could only eat mashed potatoes, and then this year my mother and I thought for a few minutes we were going to die. (She still hasn’t ate yet.)

Though I must give my father some credit. This year he was the problem solver. He fixed my sister’s flat tire, pulled some sprite out of his ass for mom and me, and got some cheese and crackers to replace the ruined green bean casserole. And he was in an oddly good mood.

The holidays affect us all differently.

Boys won at Trivia. You always play Trivia after big meals, do you know this? You must, it’s Ohio law. Boys always win at Trivia too. This is not to say that men as a rule are smarter, just in the case of my relatives.

Then I swung danced with my friend, once on the lawn of my uncle’s house (passerbys thought we were drunk), and once in line at the sales, who also thought we were probably intoxicated. (She was being coerced into going, and I went because she kidnapped me.) There was this wonderful woman who applauded our dancing, and said I made a better Vanna White than she did. (True too.)

I thought I saw a former love of my life at THE SOURSE OF ALL EVIL, but it was someone else. I was slightly disappointed, but relieved too.

Tell me about yours? I want to know all about the dog that ate the Turkey. (Bridget, I’m looking right at you.)


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