Tom Turkey is safe from us. I do not cook turkey because a) I don't like having to deal with a carcass and b) I don't like having to eat the same thing for 10 dinners in a row. I am, however, making a hum-dinger of a roast tonight and oven roasted potatoes, green bean casserole (my nod to the traditional) and blueberry crumble pie!
So, I'll soon be curled up under the table, sucking my sticky little blueberry thumb and dreaming away in my food coma.
However, I blog also to tell you about my trip to Chez Dutchman yesterday. Flying on Black Wednesday = A BAD idea, I know. So, I was annoyed and pissy for a lot of it (Delays? Cancellations? Off with their heads!!). However, the last leg of the journey was the worst. It is a very short flight in a small-ish prop plane (thank you Mesaba Airlines working with Northwest - kiss my tush). So, I was properly loaded up with Clonazepam and ready to rock - even with a rain storm making things bumpy. But I sat in front of the family from hell with 3 of the most obnoxious urchins ever to pop out of a woman. I wanted to kill the boys - the girl was just whiny and could have been sedated with something alcoholic (okay - I'm just kidding - I'd never really give a kid alcohol, but this is my fantasy...). We're just up in the air - the scariest part when it's the bumpiest and the kid behind me starts talking about "CRASHING" at the top of his lungs. If the little guy had been scared, I could have dealt with that. But he was just asking questions like any stupid child: "Dad, what if we crash? Will we burn up first? What will happen to the wings? Will some people get sucked out into the air like on (some movie I've never seen thank god)? Would it hurt? What if one of the propellers becomes detached and cuts into the side of the plane? What if both props catch on fire?"...you get the drift.
I was able to handle this for about 10 minutes (with the dad just saying, "uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh") until I finally turned around and shot lasers beams out of my eyes at the father and said quietly, but menacingly: "Some of us don't like to fly, get it?" His eyes bugged out (because of the searing heat no doubt) and he muzzled his child somehow (gag? apple in the mouth?). By the time I got off the little contraption they call a plane, which had been bouncing around the bolts of lightening in the clouds, I was ready to see the Dutchman and have a stiff drink or four. Of course, TD complied and we spent the rest of the night cooing and re-declaring our love for one another before I passed out on the couch from too much excitement and beta blockers.
Have a Great Thanksgiving! See you on the flip side...