turkey trauma

Staring at a naked raw bird is an inopportune time to realize you’ve never roasted a whole turkey before.

I had to REMOVE THINGS. From INSIDE. Where it was wet and slimy and UTTERLY HORRIBLE.

I am completely traumatized by the necessity to manhandle turkey innards, and I don’t think my hands will ever be clean. Next time someone offers me a free turkey, I’m going to say “no thank you” and run away as fast as I can instead of thinking “ooh, free meat!” and planning to cook Boxing Day Dinner for assorted people. It may mean skipping the once-yearly chance for my mother to be proud of me, but if that’s the price I pay to never again have to touch raw guts, it is a small sacrifice to make.

THE HORROR.

Also, my mother is here. Last time I lost her in Ikea; this time I’m planning on taking her to America. This is going to be AWESOME by which I mean oh god help me.

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