My 'Famous' Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Invite three famous ladies to Thanksgiving dinner and write about it.  She had said.

I fumed as I bent down to the oven to check the progress of the turkey. A strand of limp hair fell against my forehead and I angrily pushed it back with the palm of my hand, too late realizing my fingers were covered with mashed yams and they were now smeared across my brow.

My disposition was not getting any better. What had started innocently enough as one of my writing group's assignments, had turned into a major undertaking.

Why didn't I cater this? I moaned. Because I thought it would be too pretentious. I belittled myself. Oh, shut up and calm down. This will turn out just fine.

The turkey did look like it was coming along nicely. The mashed yam casserole was ready to be put into the top oven when the time came, along with the corn casserole and the green bean casserole. Casseroles! Is that all I could think of making? Why didn't I think of something more interesting to make? I bet they haven't had anything so mundane in years.

Well, at least the appetizers were varied and different. The Creole shrimp & cucumber canapés, pecan-crusted blue cheese bites and smoked salmon deviled eggs had actually turned out pretty good. That appetizer cookbook I had gotten for the holidays one year had been an inspiration.

I had cleaned the house from top to bottom yesterday, thinking they'd want to see what a real middle-class retiree's home looked like. I shook my head and chided myself: Why would they be interested in what type of home we live in? I'm sure they know what a real house looks like, this is just so stupid of me!

What had Sue been thinking when she made this our next writing assignment? Had she thought that important women had nothing better to do than spend their holiday time with us? Everyone with any sense had either politely declined or sent a form letter brushing me off, (yet some still asked for a donation to their campaign). And in one case I had gotten a visit from the local police, checking me out to see if I was some type of quack. I'm not so sure they went away fully convinced I wasn't.

So none of the women I truly would have liked to have dinner with will be here, none of the 'A' list. No Hilary Clinton, no Barbara Walters, no Angelina Jolie, no Maya Angelou, no Whoopi Goldberg. I'm sure I don't have any from the 'B' or 'C' lists either, or even if they're on any list, period.

I thought over my guests and hoped that they would all get along. I had no idea whether they had met before. What if they can't stand each other? What if we all just sit there staring at the walls, with no one saying a thing? The only thing I knew about these women came from the big screen, boob-tube, or their exploits in the paper.

All of these women were much older than me, yet still looked surprisingly young. Guest#1 has been in a relationship for quite a long time and Guest#2 seems to have a pretty solid, happy marriage. But I'm not sure about Guest#3 at all. There never seems to have been someone special in her life and she is more of an enigma than the other two.

I look at the clock and see it's already 2:45! I had asked them to come at 4:00 and expected we'd eat around 5:00. Late for Thanksgiving dinner by some people's standard, but I wanted to make sure they would all have time to get here, not knowing exactly where each one would be coming from.

I rushed to my bathroom and jumped into the shower; wash, rinse, wash, rinse, condition, rinse, soap-up, rinse-off, jump out, dry off. A definite all-time personal best in getting in and out of the shower; albeit I never did squeegee the shower walls. Why does my mind stray like this when I'm in a hurry? I scolded myself.