One Foot on a Banana Peel

Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. I’m
telling you in advance, so don’t act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won’t
be coming, I’ve made a few small changes:

Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries.
After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done,
rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated
with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make.
Instead, I’ve gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them
track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their
idea.

The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy
china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match
and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will
refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins
from last Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I
promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration
hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me
it is a turkey.

We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you
while you wait. I’m sure they will be happy to share every choice
comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey
hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00
a.m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut
diamonds.

As accompaniment to the children’s recital, I will play a recording of
tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don’t own a
recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds
suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are
lying.

We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the
start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional
method. We’ve also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When
the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where
you like. In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children, NOT HANNAH, to
sit at
a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.

Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey
in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be
happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved
in a private ceremony. I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any
circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small,
unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric
knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will
eventually win. When I do, we will eat.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that
"passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean
your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.

Oh, and one reminder for the adults: For the duration of the meal, and
especially while in the presence of young diners, we will refer to the
giblet gravy by its lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner
questions you regarding the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead
ignorance. Cheese Sauce stains.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice
between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the
traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small
fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.