‘Twas the day before the day before Thanksgiving

It’s Tuesday before Thanksgiving and I’m still holding on to a vestige of my promise not to overindulge on the big day.  This year we’re sharing the day with another couple  who have pretty much the same likes and dislikes as we have.  Let’s start with the food.  No overcooked corn, please.  And don’t pass the mashed potatoes, thank you.  We are having a turkey, one of the last meats I still eat, and my friend assures me that as a free-range turkey, the bird lived a good life.  That’s little consolation because the same could be said of me, and I’m nowhere near ready to be roasted.  My husband says there’s plenty of time for that after I pass away …  but back to our similarities.  We enjoy a glass or two of wine, and the guys are all excited about football.  But, unlike many Thanksgiving day gatherings across the country, the men in our group will not retire to a TV with a game and its beer commercials blasting at full volume.  I’m sure there will be a TV somewhere and it will be tuned to a football game, and as long as it’s not in front of me nor is the volume turned up, that’s fine with me.

Okay, so now I’m trying to keep my promise to not a glutton nor a tippler be.  And I should do fine, until dessert arrives.  Will it be ice cream or gelato?  Carrot cake or pumpkin pie?  (with ice cream of course.)  Pecan pie or imported chocolates?  If I only drink one glass of wine, I should have enough self-control to have a modest dessert and an espresso.  Two glasses of wine really skews the whole deal and usually means seconds of everything.  But it’s only one day.  And it’s Thanksgiving.  And I am thankful for the bounty.  So I plan to enjoy the day, put the waistline worries aside, and eat enough for three days.

My wishes to you for a bountiful, peaceful, happy Thanksgiving.


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