Despite my body shape resembling that big buttered namesake bird itself and that Thanksgiving happens to be one of my favorite holidays, I still approach the traditional fam-feasting with a little consternation. Sure the travel is a pain and all bets are off as to my belt’s last lonely sole hole will be able to cinch up the collateral damage after a 5000 calorie snack, but that too is not my biggest worry. No I sweat bullets over the really frightening reality which make stuffed ‘carUncle TOMS’ like me weak in the wattle and that’s ‘who left da’ lumps in the taters n’ gravers?’
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the occasional stray spud that missed the mixer and didn’t win the race through the ricer. I guess I can also forgive the bold, brave n’ bready chunk of gunk that stows away from the stuffing and inadvertently into my brown gravy boat of pureed pleasure. But please don’t try to sneak in and fool me with a flotilla of stringy beans or slip in globs of greasy giblets to test my zest and goad my gag-reflex.
You see I have to always be on guard for the unexpected lascivious lump should an errant somethin’-chunk cozy up too closely to my uvula bump. Believe me nobody, not even a food sci-fi-entist wants to see a giant fat-cat sitting at the kiddy table reversing a cup of gravy’s smooth n’ true course in mid-stream. Why is it so hard to understand, like my groin I prefer my gravy strained, the jello junk-less n’ stripped clean, and my mashies uniformly smashied, then whipped into a sublime-grind cream.
Considering I am just lucky to be uncaged and temporarily free from the torch-waving townies, it is odd for such a persnickety and moody rude dude-y to have so many rules about delicious snood foodies. Yes I know as a bulky beggar there are definite politeness conventions to follow especially on a day where giving thanks is spelled out right in the name. So never fear, even a mouthy Meleagris like me won’t look a gift gobbler in the beak and will take my lumps quietly. After all imitation is the sincerest form of ‘Plattery’ so my turkey-neck and I will honor my big bird brethren, and all who prepare him with an appreciative 21 ‘done-button’ salute!