Carving a Turkey
I just read an article about turkey carving that was pretty cute. (Find it here)
For years, the question of who will carve the turkey has arisen every year about this time. It is tradition in these parts for the man of the house to do it.
It wasn't that way in my house, when I was married. You see, the man of the house had no clue how to carve a turkey and because he (apparently) wasn't born with that knowledge, had no desire to learn. Even when I offered to buy him an electric knife to play with, he refused all offers to carve the turkey on Thanksgiving that he ALWAYS insisted I make... for better or for worse.
So, I made the turkey, it was beautiful and golden and perfect and presented it to the guest we had over for the Thanksgiving meal that year, although because this was thirty something years ago, I don't remember the precise circumstances. There were so many similair moments aft4er that.
Again, I digress... So, with knife and fork poised, I was ready to have a go when I suddenly heard a horrific scream.
No, it wasn't the turkey screaming, it was my ex-husband and his brand of sick humor. He laughed because it startled me so badly that I dropped either the knife or the fork, or possibly both. He really enjoyed embarassing me and I was so easily embarassed when I was younger.
The next year, and all subsequent years, I carved the turkey in the kitchen. Alone. No screaming involved. It was served, all hacked to bits on a platter and I still cringe when I start to carve a turkey because I expect to hear a blood curdling scream that would make the stuanchest Wes Craven movie Fan proud.
For years, the question of who will carve the turkey has arisen every year about this time. It is tradition in these parts for the man of the house to do it.
It wasn't that way in my house, when I was married. You see, the man of the house had no clue how to carve a turkey and because he (apparently) wasn't born with that knowledge, had no desire to learn. Even when I offered to buy him an electric knife to play with, he refused all offers to carve the turkey on Thanksgiving that he ALWAYS insisted I make... for better or for worse.
So, I made the turkey, it was beautiful and golden and perfect and presented it to the guest we had over for the Thanksgiving meal that year, although because this was thirty something years ago, I don't remember the precise circumstances. There were so many similair moments aft4er that.
Again, I digress... So, with knife and fork poised, I was ready to have a go when I suddenly heard a horrific scream.
No, it wasn't the turkey screaming, it was my ex-husband and his brand of sick humor. He laughed because it startled me so badly that I dropped either the knife or the fork, or possibly both. He really enjoyed embarassing me and I was so easily embarassed when I was younger.
The next year, and all subsequent years, I carved the turkey in the kitchen. Alone. No screaming involved. It was served, all hacked to bits on a platter and I still cringe when I start to carve a turkey because I expect to hear a blood curdling scream that would make the stuanchest Wes Craven movie Fan proud.
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