You know me… I like to flout tradition whenever possible. And so, like last year, MysteryMan and I opted out of a china-and-crystal thanksgiving and instead packed up the deep-fryer, some folding chairs, and my mother, and headed up to the Lion’s game on Thursday.
Of course, I wasn’t completely willing to give up the tradition of gorging myself on Thanksgiving food… which is why we brought Herbert.
Who’d been chillin’ in an apple-rosemary brine for a day.
Then the little women got to sit around the heater while these intelligent handsome young men tried to figure out which end of the turkey was its butt.
We hardly had time to be properly shamed because our feast was ready.
Don’t worry, the feast didn’t stop there. No Thanksgiving would be complete without fresh cut french fries and mini-apple pies.
The only way this Thanksgiving could have gotten any classier (according to my mom) was if we toasted each other with our dixie cups…
Oh wait. We did.
(And to the Lions awesome 0-12 season. Here’s to making history and getting your asses handed to you by Tennessee guys.)
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