Thanksgiving at my house typically involves a strict egalitarian division of labor. Basically, my wife cooks all day and I eat all of it.
Many of you might consider this an unfair arrangement, pointing out that cooking food takes way more time than eating it.
And that would true under normal circumstances. But when I say that it’s my job to eat “all of the food”, I’m not exaggerating. I lack the mechanism that stops most people from eating food when their hunger is satiated. I also lack the mechanism that stops people from eating food when their hunger is satiated, their pants no longer fit and people are complaining about the smell.
Thanksgiving usually ends with Bridget washing the dishes. I watch from the floor, where I’m laid out like one of those snakes you see on the Discovery Channel – the ones that have a humongous bulge in the middle because they ate an egg whole without chewing.
Common sense tells me that I need to exercise some self-control, but I find it’s much easier to blame my genetics or the fast food industry. I’d sue someone, but there’s apple pie I haven’t finished.
This year, my wife announced that she’s not cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Instead, we’re going to her aunt’s house to eat. We may also stop at a friend’s house and eat. This dismayed me at first, but then I realized that my wife had craftily combined aspects from two of my favorite holidays – giant dinners from Thanksgiving and the door-to-door freeloading of Halloween.
My wife’s a genius. She’s invented Thanks-O-Ween.