Eating with Dr. Monkey

When a seventy something year old woman asks you in a quivering voice a few weeks prior to the holiday, "What are ya'll doing for Thanksgiving?" What she's really saying is, "You better be coming to our house for Thanksgiving dinner because I'm cooking enough food to feed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and all their extended families. Oh yeah, and I almost forgot to mention that your father and I could drop dead any second because we're both past our mid 70's you know." And so that's how we found ourselves over at Sparky's parents house for Thanksgiving dinner.

We interrupt this post to bring you this important news:

Separated at birth:

Sparky's Mom Dave's Mom.

We now return you to your regularly secheduled blog post.

I don't know about Dave's Mom but Sparky's Mom sure can cook, even if she is spice averse. She also sets a nice table too.

My vegetarian friends may want to skip to the end of this post due to the nature of the following pictures.

Here was the guest of honor, all stuffed, cooked, and juicy. Alas poor turkey, we ate him well.

After a few bits of last minute prepping, football watching, and small talk, the meal was laid out and pronounced ready to eat.
We took our plates from the table and we served ourselves from the laid out spread. Please don't tell Lou Dobbs or Michael Malkin that we had guacamole and tortilla chips with our Thanksgiving dinner, they might call the INS or DHS on us if they knew we were enjoying foods from other ethnic groups on this uniquely North American holiday.

It was not a pretty sight for the next twenty to twenty five minutes as we stuffed our faces and enjoyed the meal. Let's just say all of us have "healthy" appetites. Especially me, look my plate:
My second serving looked a lot like the first but it was just a tiny bit smaller. Hey, I don't wear 3x polo shirts for nothing kids. As I ate and ate my pants began to feel tight around my waist and I felt flush with heat. To alleviate the symptoms of over eating I took off my shirt, unbuttoned my pants, lowered them to my ankles and I laid on the floor next to the table. I begged someone to take a photo of me in my post meal stupor so I could share it with all of you but no one would oblige me. Now you see what kind of selfish bastards I hang with on Thanksgiving!


After I was revived I went into the kitchen to see what kind of dent we put into all the food Sparky's Mom had cooked. The sight of what was left over astonished me: Even after 6 adults had hit that food as hard as we could, there was barely a dent in it. So we'll be making that 15 mile drive later this evening to eat that meal one more time. This time I swear I'll come back with a picture of my bloated Thanksgiving dinner stuffed nearly naked sweaty body for you my dear readers, or maybe not. One never knows.