Gobble Gobble

I'm going turkey shopping.  Soon.  Before the freaks come out.  As a precautionary measure I was thinking of wearing my husband's Detroit Lion's pilgrim suit.  Figured if I looked extra crazy, nobody would mess with me. What's that you say?  No pilgrim suit necessary?  Well fine.  It wouldn't fit me anyway.  I'm hoping it was somehow "misplaced" over the course of the last year.  Lost at the cleaners perhaps? I honestly don't think my dad and brother can take one more year of breaking bread with a 40-something man in a Honolulu blue and silver Miles Standish get-up. It was funny the first couple of years.  Well, kinda.  And then it just started seeming pathetic. Nobody even paid attention to him.  It's like, "yeah, yeah, yeah.....pilgrim suit......pass the gravy".  But I digress......turkey.  I'm just going to get a big ass Butterball.  A few years back, my mom was all excited because she ordered some crazy expensive free-range turkey because, and I quote, "It's where the President is getting his turkey".  Uh....okay.  So this turkey arrives in a box via Fed Ex rather than motorcade.  Dad: "Rose, Rose!  The turkey's here!"  I'm surprised they didn't play "Hail to the Chief" and roll out a red carpet.  It's a turkey, people.  Get a grip.  And I don't think my dad would have been so excited about the big arrival had he been aware of what he paid for said Presidential turkey.   So we all gather around for the grand unveiling.  It's a turkey.  Like any other turkey.  Maybe it had a little more fun on the way to its inevitable fate, but it's a turkey nevertheless.  It ended up tasting no better and frankly maybe a little worse than a good old fashioned Butterball from your grocer's freezer.  So, bottom line, I must inform my loving family that as I am not made of money, no matter what the Obama family is eating next Thursday, we are eating Butterball.  And we're going to like it.  And if we don't, we are going to stick a sock in it.