Thanksgiving Turkey

Not quite the right season, but who cares. 

Write about the only time you hosted Thanksgiving—and how it went so terribly wrong. Start with the line, “For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store,” and end your story with “And that’s why we all ate hamburgers.”

For my first Thanksgiving as a host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store. I bought a small fortune of groceries to go with it. I was determined to make this day memorable.

The morning of the big day found me hard at work, cooking and moving furniture to find the most effective configuration for holding twelve people and a Bernese mountain dog. (The dog was my sister’s, and even though I reminded her my place was tiny, she insisted that Barney was part of the family, too.)

At 3 o’clock, the doorbell rang. Before I could really register who was at the door, a huge mass of fur slammed into me. Barney’s front paws nearly reached my shoulders, and his large wet nose was centimeters from mine.

“Hey, Buddy,” I said. “Nice to see you.”

“Barney! Let me give my brother a hug too!” came my sister’s voice from behind the wall of dog.

Barney slipped back down onto the ground and trotted to his favorite spot on my couch and sprawled out, taking up the whole thing.

“Dude. You don’t get the whole place to yourself today,” I told him. “You have to share with ten more people.”

I swear, that dog looked at me and then stretched out the tiniest bit more.

Alice helped me with decorations, by which I mean she did the whole thing.

Barney was already snoring on the couch when the rest of the family started showing up.

It was a very tight squeeze, with people bumping into each other with every turn, especially since Barney made the couch unavailable. But everyone was in good spirits. I felt proud of myself for how well this day was going.

When we were just about to take out the turkey and start our wonderful meal, Alice said, “Wait, everybody! We haven’t taken a family picture yet!”

There was a general muttering of consent, and Uncle Dave went to retrieve his tripod. I took one look at the couch and the peacefully sleeping Barney and suggested we take the picture outside.

We all shuffled outside to the garden out front. Uncle Dave set up his camera.

Click!

“Wait, I think I blinked!” someone said.

Click!

“Can we do it again? My hair was in my face.”

Click!

“Can we do a funny one after this?”

After an eternity of different positions and facial expressions, I finally reminded everyone of the waiting turkey. We traipsed back upstairs, suddenly hungry.

When I opened the door, the first thing I noticed was that Barney was no longer on the couch. I looked around for him, and saw an even bigger problem instead.

The table, with all of the food, was overturned.

Dishes were scattered all over the floor

And in the middle of it all was Barney, happily gnawing on what was left of the turkey.

Alas, my Thanksgiving was made unforgettable, though not the way I planned.

And that’s why we all ate hamburgers.