Death by Gravy

When I suggested that the self-improvement plan was on hiatus, I did not mean that I would try to kill myself with food. Gluttony, sure. But death by gravy? That was never the intention.

But that's what happened. Today I ate what seemed to be a normal Thanksgiving plate. By normal I mean huge, but this is America. Normal is huge. Somehow, though, the quart of gravy that I put into my body has started to eat away at my internal organs. Several times tonight (presently it's been eight hours since we ate our Thanksgiving dinner) I have complained to Matt that I have been experiencing chest pains, only 75% joking. The suggestion that he should get me a glass of red wine to help out with the heart attack I was having was a joke, of course. I've watched enough 60 Minutes to know that one glass of red wine won't cure an in-progress heart attack.

And when, in excruciating pain from the dinner itself, I rolled myself into the living room with a slice of pumpkin cheesecake, Matt just shook his head and asked what I was doing. "Hair of the dog," I replied. It did not work.

So, I feel like I'm on the verge of death by gravy, but before I leave this life I want to share some pictures from our Thanksgiving.

Pumpkin cheesecake. (The is my dad's with cranberry/orange puree something or other on it--I took mine plain.) The crust was made with Nilla Wafers. Mmmmmmmmm.

Bolognese and pie preparation on Wednesday night. Our little kitchen was full of activity.

I think the pilgrims took some bites out of the cheesecake in the middle of the night. Everyone knows you can't trust a pilgrim.

And we ate pumpkin cheesecake for breakfast. Looking back, this is where my day started to go downhill. (Really, my day was shot from the beginning, when I woke up at 7:15, freaked out and threw on my clothes so that I could get to Target and buy a cheap external hard drive. It wasn't until I was at my car that I realized that today was Thursday, and not Friday.)

Chloe thinks that making stupid faces will get her out of having her picture taken. I call her bluff.

Turkey was in the oven early. (Thanks to the botched Target trip.)

And came out looking (and tasting) pretty pretty good.

One of the best parts about having my family--especially my dad--here is that they'll do much of the work. Kitchen bitchin', as he likes to call it.

The dogs searched far and wide for floor scraps.

And the rest of us sat around watched Thanksgiving Friends episodes. Fifty points to the person who knows which one this is. (It's my favorite one of them all.)

And The Bruce kept on keepin' on, until, finally, dinner was ready.

We ate and ate and ate, until we couldn't eat anymore. And instead of doing this. . .

. . .or these. . .

. . .I took a nap.

How was your Thanksgiving?