by Cyn Lee

Created on: November 17, 2009   Last Updated: November 21, 2011

Jeff and I had been living together for about a year when his family finally decided to visit our cozy little home.  Our decision not to get married and sort of try each other out before-hand, fit our personal wants and needs.  His parents on the other hand were mortified.  They totally believed in marriage.  I did not.  So it was safe to say SHE didn't care too much for me.

Naturally, I was nervous about hosting my first family Thanksgiving.  I was only 20.  Cooking burgers or pasta was a chore for me.  The whole kit and kaboodle  seemed an impossibility.   The fact it was HIS family made me so nervous I  began starting arguments weeks before so I could get out of it.   No Luck.  Thanksgiving morning came quick. 

We both made sure the house was spotless and clutter free. That meant every closet , draw and cupboard was jammed packed with miscellaneous house junk.  My luggage hid a weeks worth of dirty laundry.  I can't even tell you the stuff we shoved in the back of our closets.    I bought the largest turkey I could find as well as  all the goodies and traditionals that would make the perfect dinner.   At 7am that morning, his mom called and asked what she could bring and  what time should she come by  to help.  I proudly told her I had it covered.  She grunted. 

Since they were not scheduled to arrive until 3pm for dinner, I felt there was plenty of time to go to my former high school's morning football game. Homecoming was big where I'm from.  For me,  on Thanksgiving it was a tradition to get up early and head down to the school and parade along with present and former students. The game started at 9am and I figured I would be back by 11am.   " Plenty of time to cook and prepare the dinner."  I thought to myself.

Even the best plans fall through.  After the game I headed straight home.   I arrived just before 11 in the morning to find his entire family  standing in my kitchen.  All 8 were gawking  at my oven.  The whole house was filled with smoke and the toxic smell of  burning plastic.   I suddenly remembered a few nights before we had a few friends over and  while cleaning I hid a few dirty dishes in the oven, mostly plastic mixing bowls and cups.   All the bowls and cups had melted into the oven because SHE decided to start the turkey early and preheated the oven without looking inside. 

What a smelly mess. The boyfriend came running over to my shocked self and asked me why I had plastic stuff in the oven. I was so embarrassed I had to laugh, however no one else was even smiling. "The place could have burned down," I heard her bellow from the crowded pantry. " We can't cook a turkey in this oven, the odor is toxic." She had always been snide when speaking to me over the phone, but the voice she now used was creepy. It was evident she did not like me before, and this domestic mistake was all she needed to never like me.

Thanksgiving 1978 was spent in the only restaurant we could find open. There was so much sarcasm flung at the table I could barely eat. If I was a spiteful woman, I would have married the boyfriend soon after the Turkey Day from Hell.  Instead, I left momma's boy to his momma and lived happily ever after.  And yes, I still hide dirty dishes in the oven when company comes over as there is no time for perfection.  Besides, who doesn't hide stuff when company's coming.

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