Thanksgiving At The Limpy Household
The morning will start out with me rolling out of bed around 8 am and eating a couple of bananas. Actually, the morning will start out for my wife considerably earlier, as she has to get up and start cooking a delicious meal for 8-9 people, with trimmings, and clean the house to her specifications for a celebration, (you could do surgery in any room in our house on Thanksgiving), and that's not going to happen getting up at 8.
Regardless, I get up around 8. Then I'll wait around for my brother, who will inevitably be late. While waiting I'll offer helpful cooking tips to my wife as she runs around the kitchen, most of which not only would result in burning the turkey but wholly defy the laws of physics. Eventually she will suggest that I get the fuck out of her kitchen, generally at about the same point that my brothers death-trap of a car rolls to a stop against our shed. He'll come shuffling to the door with some excuse about traffic, bad alram clocks or dead hookers and we're off for the highlight of the day.
Every year since 1995 I've run the Manchester Road Race. It's the second largest race in New England, after the Boston Marathon. They expect 10,000+ to run. It's a fairly well-known race in running circles and attracts world class runners. And me. One year I'm pretty sure the winner passed me at the 3.5 mile mark while taking a victory lap.
After staggering to the finish, hopefully in less than 38 minutes, (it's one lap around part of Manchester, clocking in at 4.758 miles. The winner will do it in 21-23 minutes), I will try valiantly not to leave my bananas on the road, then drive home. I will then shower and try to help clean the house. After being told repeatedly that I am not doing it right, I will start drinking. if it's good weather, this will be done outside while playing catch with the children, or making them do yard work.
At some point the football games will start. I will watch the Cowboys game. I may watch the Lions game, but only out of a sense of morbid curiosity. Early in the afternoon we'll eat. Then I will start clearing the table, because fair's fair, and if my wife spends all day cooking, the least, (literally, the least), I can do is clean up. I'll start doing the dishes. This is the only day we use the sink over the dishwasher, as there's just too damn much to cram in the washer. And trust me, Ive tried.
Then there's dessert. After which I will feel sick, but in a good way. I will lie on the couch and gaze vacantly at whatever happens to be on television. If I'm lucky, someone will be running an "A Christmas Story" marathon. If I'm not lucky, Kate will be screeching at Jon about something. Either way, I will lack the energy to reach for the remote.
At some point I will get a second wind and recover enough to chase the kids to bed, grab another beer, (eleventy-first if you're counting), and finsih the dishes. The dog will be let out, the wife carried up to bed and I will sit down to stare at the TV and, as my knees throb, wonder why I keep running that fucking race!?!?
I hope your Thanksgiving goes as well.