So what do you do when you realize you’ve been a turkey? And because you are a turkey others react to you like one?
The Thanksgiving feast preparation went off without a hitch for five hours. Until 30 minutes before dinner went on the table. The kitchen was crowded. For those of you with normal size kitchens, imagine that you are trying to prepare Thanksgiving dinner in your coat closet with four people standing around you talking. Then imagine it smaller. That’s how small the kitchen is. And so, as I was trying to clear a giant heavy skillet off the stove top, one of the “helpers” bumped me, sending hot grease all the way down my leg, onto the floor, and soaking through my shoe scalding my foot. So there I am, with the fiance’ and mother-in-law screaming at me to take my pants off before I get third degree burns, my 17 year old future brother-in-law and his girlfriend peering in the door, and me dashing out of the room and straight upstairs to my bedroom where I burst into tears. It hurt. But that wasn’t why I was crying. It was the Martha Stewart in me. The one who wanted to be able to make a wonderful meal and have the mother-in-law rave over my food and my fiance’ be proud of me in front of his family.
He came up to check on me and be sure I hadn’t been maimed and all I could choke out was that I needed everyone out of the tiny kitchen immediately if we were ever going to eat. So I came downstairs and my mother-in-law and sister-in-law are cowering the dining room. The brother-in-law and girlfriend dodged me coming down the stairs. And the fiance’ was keeping everything from burning and finished dinner. So instead of perfection and pride and love, I successfully made everyone tense and nervous and covered the floor in grease. This year I was the turkey.
Then tonight, after a day off work and sleeping in, I thought it might be fun to go out cocktailing. Until… the fiance’ asked if I minded if he went out. “Do you care if I go out?” is how he put it. So I teased back, “I guess you don’t want me to go?” And he never really replied. And then I tried hinting a few minutes later with the girl classic, “If you just wanna hang out with the guys, that’s ok…?” And nothing. So he got in the shower, got dressed, and I gave him my bank card (he doesn’t work, remember?). And I said I wished I could go out. So he said he’d stay home. Which made me feel even less welcome. And now? He’s out, with our friends, my money, having fun, and I’m home with dirty dishes from a delicious meal that I ruined. Alone.
I’m so pouting. And I want to. Actually, for some reason I feel like crying. But, hey, that’s what I get for being a turkey.