Looking back at our most costly feast was the year we met at the oldest daughter’s home. She had gone out and bought a turkey a week prior to the big dinner. The day we were about to leave she called, “Mom, I forgot about the turkey and had it in the garage. It has been warm out. You think it’s okay?”
The turkey, with every disease-causing bacteria known to man had likely harvested itself in it, was definitely not going to be on our dinner plate. I replied, “No.”
“I have to work. You think you can get us another one?” she continued.
“Okay. You better chuck the turkey.” I ended.
We headed out. We hadn’t bothered to stop at the grocery store. We arrived at my daughters. Our son-in-law and our daughter were still at work. I took out my spare key and opened the door. We lugged our luggage in then left again to the grocery store. We only saw Butterball stuffed with stuffing. We checked another grocery store, same. I finally just bought Butterball. It was double what I usually paid for a regular turkey.
We went back to the house and when my daughter strolled in I told her what I bought. “We have to use our own stuffing.” she insisted.
My other daughter had not left from her place yet. I called her. “Hi, I got a stuffed turkey is it okay with you?” She too felt that we just had to use our own stuffing. “I’ll see if there are any left here.” she ended.
I hung up and early the next day she arrived with another turkey.
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