That’s the question I uttered in between groans of satisfaction/pain somewheres about 9:30 p.m. on
Thanksgiving, thanks to two heaping platefuls of all the fixin’s, minus the candied yams thanks to a certain debacle which should go unmentioned henceforth.
Of course, I had already unbuckled my belt a couple of notches but that wasn’t nearly enough. Especially since I decided to throw dessert into the mix, in this case my mom’s wonderful rice pudding.
Chuck says that calling Thanksgiving “Turkey Day” misses the point. I guess. Seems to me that turkey’s pretty essential to the meal.
You know, Thanksgiving’s always been one of my favorite holidays (along with Independence Day), and one reason is because it is the one day a year when fat people like me can really pig out without shame. Indeed, eating less than your fill on Thanksgiving is seen as a bad thing. You’re just not being thankful enough.
I guess that in some way all holidays involve the senses, but Thanksgiving is special because there’s nothing more basic than food. We need it to survive. The food we receive on Thanksgiving, though, is a metaphor for that other stuff we really need not only to survive but to flourish: the love and support of our family, friends and loved ones.
So, those two drumsticks, three pieces of pumpkin pie and one pound of mashed potatoes aren’t an alarming sign of your rapidly deteriorating health. They are a simple reminder that each bite brings you closer to the ones you love and who do you the great favor of loving you back, in spite of your many flaws.
For that, I’m thankful.