The Christmas Turkey Battle!

I love this time of the year mostly because food contains no calories in the month of December. Really, I'm sure there a study being done somewhere to prove this very important point. Most people will go on and on about the importance of being surrounded by friends and family. Me? I drink more thanks to said friends and family. Then I hide out in the darkest corner and wait for the mentally impaired to leave. Yeah, I'm not all that fluffy or jolly after hours surrounded by family. However, I honestly love hanging out with the short crowd. The 5-13 age bracket are my favorite, old enough to know what's going on & still young enough to believe.
So while the 'adults' are doing the coffee thing and trying to one up each other with their yearly news letters I hang with the ankle bitters. Before Christmas we take the presents, stack them up by name, then by size and finally by sound. It's fun and makes me feel like a kid again.
Once many moons ago as a innocent, pure and sweet soul of fourteen or fifteen I wanted to surprise my parents. My surprise, you ask? Cooking the turkey for Christmas! Yep, it was a brillant idea even though I'd never cooked one before. I thought how hard could it possibly be? Ahh the stupidity of the young :)
There it was a big twenty pound turkey in all its frozen glory. The time period to cook the bird was short. My parents worked so I had to get it done before they arrived home from work. As an astoundingly creative teen I thought of the perfect way to defrost my monstrous bird. Yank open the door on the dishwasher & stuff it in. Smart girl I am I pressed the gentle cycle, tossed the white frozen bundle in, hipped checked it closed & patted myself on the back.
Ten minutes into my amazing plan the dishwasher bucked, jerked and clucked. Yep, I thought the bird was fighting back. I rip open the door only to find bent metal and a still frozen bird. Obliviously not strong enough to conquer my turkey I grabbed it from the dishwasher and spun around waiting for brillance to strike again.
WHAM! Lighting bolts!! I rush to the laundry room & stood debating. Washer or dryer?? Hot water would defrost the bird faster. So off to poor innocent machine I went. Only to discover my bird wouldn't fit. Shoving, pushing, & slicking it with Snuggle fabric softener didn't help either. Hey, the thing was wrapped in pastic what could it hurt? Giving up that particular fork in the road I decided maybe the dryer was the answer after all. After flinging open the door I popped the now slightly mangled bird in and slammed the door shut. Set the heat timer to medium and hit the start button with an angry jab. The battle had now become personal! Me against the dead bird and so far the bird was winning.
I waited impatiently, listening to the thunk thunk of the drum as it connected to the frozen fowl. Everything going according to my masterplan! I walked away feeling triumphant and victorious! Just as I crossed the threshold the once seemingly innocuous dryer went postal. It bucked, groaned and hit the ground so hard I thought the floor would crack. Fearing my mother's reaction should I break the dryer (I was hoping to blame the dishwasher on my brother) I ran across the room, hit the power button and nothing happen. The dryer was alive and PISSED! Terror became my new name as I punched the damn button over and over again with no different results. Finally as my heart rate tripled I reached behind the now moaning monster and yanked out it's life blood. The electric cord! and all at once silence descended until the door popped open revealing my STILL frozen dead bird!
A smart person would have admitted defeat. A smart person would have already called and confessed her sins. A smart person would have packed a bag and hit the road before her mother came home to the destruction and possible death of two major appliances. I however am not a smart person. As I said this was war. The bird would not beat me. It would not be put back in the giant outside freezer only to mock me to the other frozen foods. I'd never be able to look another Popsicle in the face.

Time to pull the big girl panties up and show the turkey I meant business. Wrapping each hand in two oven mitts apiece (cause by now I'm thinking the bird just might still be alive and possessed) I take it to the ultimate destination for death. My mom's brand new microwave! A device bought only a few weeks ago in honor of the upcoming holiday and all the impending guests. Yes, I thought to myself, this machine so shiny and with so many fun buttons, would conquer my opponent.
Feeling smug and pretty proud of myself I shove the bird in, slam the door closed before turkey could try to make a break for it and hit the high power button then start.
Oh yeah, this was so going to work. I wanted to pat myself on the back. I wanted to crow with my vicious victory. I wanted to rub my brother and sister's faces in my brillance and all the brownie points cooking this bird would get me. Mentally I ignored the other destruction I'd left in my wake. Thinking about it would have interfered with my victory lap around the kitchen island. Some time around the second boogie lap I head the strangest noise. A pop, kind of quiet so maybe I didn't really hear anything? A litter slower now, but still dancing and rejoicing I continued to Snoopy Dance my way around the room.
Then it happened. The turkey came back for revenge! I'd just made a pass around the microwave when all hell broke loose. The door flew open, the turkey flew out headed right where my dancing self had been two seconds before, but instead of hitting me the bird soared across the room, smashed into the opposite wall and came bounding back. It crashed into the not so new looking microwave then finally thankfully tumbled to the floor, smoking. When the smoke finally cleared I saw bits and pieces of turkey meat littering the kitchen floor and me. Covered head to toe in turkey guts I looked around at the destruction, stunned and suddenly very very afraid.
My once oh so brillant plan lay smoking and popping at my feet and there wasn't a single sibling in the house to blame. Needless to say my mother had a few choice words for me even as I tried to defend myself. Somehow "the turkey made me do it" didn't fly with her and I was stuck as her kitchen slave for the next month. My father took one look at the room and quickly left, hiding in his office with the TV on...LOUD. Only in later years would I learn he'd hidden himself away so quickly because he'd burst out laughing.
It's a story that gets told every year at Christmas time around my family. It always starts with "You remember the time Allie started a war with the frozen turkey & the turkey won?"
To this day I reply "The victor ended up eaten by the dog, didn't he?"

I wish you a wonderful Christmas, Hanukkah, holiday or whatever you wish celebrate this time of year. Enjoy those who love you and those you love. Learn to tolerate or ignore those you don't.

Until next time

Kudos,
Allie

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