The Turkey Story

By HARRIET BISHOP

A few years ago I was having Thanksgiving dinner at my house and I was going to fix the turkey a little different than I had in the past. It required marinating the turkey the night before. I wanted to buy a fresh turkey and found out that I could get one at a grocery store 33 miles from here. Since I was working and didn’t have a lot of time, I arranged with a friend to pick the turkey up for me that Monday before Thanksgiving. This developed into a problem when the friend took sick. I found out about her on that Monday morning. When I arrived at work that day, I expressed my dilemma to one of my co-workers and she very kindly said she would get it for me the next day when she went into town. Now it’s Tuesday and we have the snow storm of the century and nobody goes anywhere. But, the co-worker undaunted, says “Don’t worry, I’ll go tomorrow morning.” Now it’s becoming a problem. Wednesday before Thanksgiving is here and I don’t have a turkey for my dinner. The co-worker, by this time, is picking up several turkeys for stranded people. She says I’ll put it in your car on my way home and you’ll have your turkey. Now I’m getting a lot nervous because I still have to marinate the turkey. It’s Wednesday afternoon and the co-worker arrives back with the turkeys in tow. Except, according to her, there is a slight problem! No more fresh turkeys, she had to buy frozen and all the they had were big ones left. So instead of the 16 pound turkey I had asked for, I now have a 24 pound turkey that is frozen. Well, scrap the marinating idea and go to plan B. I get out of work on Wednesday evening and low and behold there is my turkey in the back seat of my car. Thank Goodness! It hasn’t thawed because it is colder that cold and the temperature is somewhere in the vicinity of four degrees below zero. IN NOVEMBER! I’m just glad I’ve got something to feed my family so I drive home with a smile on my face and hoping against hope that the turkey will fit into my oven. I figure I’ll send turkey home with everybody. Now I am home and I get out of my car with all my goodies and I go to get the turkey out of the back seat of my car and I find that the stupid thing has somehow slid off the back seat and has wedged itself between the front seat and the back seat. Now I really got a problem because my front seat is broken and I can’t move it up to get the turkey out. So there I am, standing in nine degrees below zero weather, on an icy driveway, in the dark, trying to get this turkey up and into my arms so I can take it inside and proceed to thaw it and hope it will be ready for Thanksgiving dinner the next day. I’m pushing and I’m pulling and I’m prying and I give it one last try before I decide I might have to take the car apart. I pull with all my might and the tukey pops up and out and falls out of my arms onto the driveway. It hits my cement driveway and the ice and starts sliding down my driveway and stops in the middle of the street. I can’t believe it. Now my 24 pound turkey is sitting in the middle of the street and I have to hope and pray nobody will run over it. So I skate and slide some 300 yards down my driveway with the incline, braving the ice and snow, to retreive my turkey. Now I’m thinking, I hope the neighbors aren’t watching I heft that baby in my arms and climb back up the driveway and up my steps an heft that blasted turkey into its final resting place in my sink. Is it any wonder people, that I tell you, I hate cooking turkeys. Can you now see why I would rather go out to eat at a French restaurant. On Thanksgiving day, I proudly presented my family with a perfectly cooked 24 pound turkey, stuffed to the gills with dressing and declared that they were very fortunate that they were not eating macaroni and cheese formed into a turkey mold and smelling liquid smoke as we passed around the bottle. Happy Turkey Day Y’all. Remember “Don’t count your turkeys before they’re hatched.”