Men Suck at Thanksgiving!
A heart-warming holiday tale back by occasional demand…
Men Suck at Thanksgiving! And I don’t mean just a little. No, we suck in an excessive stink the whole house up Big Fart kind of way.
To be fair, some guys reading this may think they don’t suck simply because they do not have to endure the hostile environment encountered when you are the host family and everyone is schlepping to your house for the big meal… that your wife has painstakingly prepared. If that’s your situation and you were fortunate enough to travel somewhere beyond your ranch to a place where some other damsel in distress prepared the meal and you just had to show up well… YOU STILL SUCK… but just slightly less so.
Case in point: As any hostess worth her yams will tell you, the preparation for said feast does not begin on Thanksgiving. Oh no, there’s at least three days of advanced preparation.
Day 1: Hunt and gather. This day is for accumulating the required feasting items; Turkey, stuffing, cranberry, a variety of potatoes, beans, spices and a wide assortment of unidentified goods. If you make the mistake of asking what any of these mystery items are during Day 1 proceedings, YOU SUCK and this will be bantered about for approximately 4 ½ hours while she gathers her thoughts in preparation of Day 2.
Day 2: The sequel. This is the return to the shopping center day where she will retrieve all items forgotten on original Day 1 assembly. Upon her return, any mention of this revisit will be met with violent opposition, reminding your sorry self that she did not want to go back but rather had to go back because YOU SUCK!
The evening between Day 2 and Day 3: No calm before the storm. About an hour before we went to bed I asked (innocently enough I thought) “You don’t have to get up early tomorrow do you”? YOU SUCK! As soon as the words left my lips I knew I was sinking in a steaming stew of poo. It starts with the look of pure disdain, followed by deep groans that sound like a humpback whale with severe indigestion. This horrific growl eventually becomes a tirade of things she has had to do, and will have to get up early to do to finish preparing for tomorrow… all of which you did not do because YOU SUCK!
Side note: Her 6:45am awakening and subsequent movements to the kitchen must be steadfastly ignored. Any attempts at early holiday banter will prove futile. At this point there is so much tension in the air a mere toe crack will send you hurling into a vortex of doom. There will be loud sighs, banging of pots, occasional screams. Just lie still.
Day 3: D-day. Pay close attention to your surroundings with a keen eye on things outside of her focal point. Apparently my 12 year-old son was not supposed to wear his “Zombie Apocalypse” shirt with the dead guy and blood spatter on it.
Unless there’s a new, more praise-worthy translation for “mangled” and “hack-job” men also suck at carving the turkey. This is no doubt perplexing to many as this is supposedly “the guys’ job”, the moment when he’s tagged in from football watching and beer drinking to Ginsu the bird. The crowd gathers, there’s a faint drum roll (perhaps only you can hear), the sun spotlights on you thru the picture window and then… YOU SUCK! I once witnessed the swift emasculation of my father in-law’s initial Emeril-quality bird bravado transformed into Jerry Lewis’ Nutty Professor with one “what the hell did you do?” from my mother in-law. Shameful.
If somehow you manage to do something right on this day (bring your plate to the sink, not spill Blueberry pie on the rug, whatever) do not, under any circumstances, draw attention to the feat. Like throwing a live grenade at an upright trampoline this will immediately blow up in your face. And, whatever you do, don’t say something moronic like “I picked up a case of beer so we’re all set with that”. This seemingly beneficial act is so measly in comparison to the colossal tactical and physical effort of the Grand Gala it will only remind her that YOU SUCK.
My advice, stay out of the way and don’t say anything until after dessert. By then, she will have had at least 3 glasses of wine and your presence will be somewhat tolerable.
Also, keep in mind not one iota of this story is remotely amusing to her during the Day 1 thru 3 YOU SUCK period and is only safe to share when the dust truly settles on Day 4 and beyond.
Men, Consider Yourself Warned.
Women, Thanks For All Your Giving!
May The Feast Be With You!
Steve 🙂
Divorce Prevention Disclaimer: The previous fictional account does not necessarily depict any actual person or event. Any similarity between this tale and real life is purely coincidental.
UNCONTROLLED SUBSTANCE 