The 100 year old went north to Stokes County for Thanksgiving. The Wife’s twin sister in Raleigh had the two oldest home from college and the journey was too much for them. So, the Wife and I placed a perfectly stuffed, baked and browned 20 lb Butterball in the old 260E and headed down I-40/85.
The Wife’s sister had prepared all manner of derigeur dishes and some more contemporary surprises to go with the bird. I pronounced the 2 loaves of Pepperidge Farms 15 Grain bread, the only decent Food Lion choice, used for stuffing as too dense. However, just now I managed to soak it sufficiently in gravy to solve that problem. I swooned as usual over the green bean and sweet potato casseroles. And for once in a dozen years, nobody, especially me, brought a spiral cut ham. Instead, they had a magnificent beef tenderloin.
I have a ham problem. I dream about ham. To me, the most beautiful woman in the world would have ham for a head. When confronted with even a bad ham and anything else, I invariably go for the ham. Then I spend the rest of the day slowly swelling from the salt, but fondly remembering the ham. Fortunately, I keep a large supply of ham in the freezer and will be having copious amounts today to make up for yesterday.
The Brother-in-law and I repaired afterward to the patio where he quizzed me on all things politic while displaying his encyclopedic knowledge of the current congress. Soon enough my dulcet tones had lulled everyone to sleep. I watched the rest of the Packers game, roused the Wife and headed us home. I stopped briefly to refuel and purchase a large sugar free Red Bull.
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