chaobell | you want me to cook the WHAT

For those interested, here is the convoluted-ass course from this weekend’s race. Approximately. I’m a little fuzzy on where exactly those last few turns were.

So I got a phone call from my mom this morning. She had gotten the turkey and was holding it for an aunt who was to pick it up and then cook it.

Last night, this aunt called to inform Mom that the turkey would not fit in her oven.

And so, this morning, Mom calls me and goes “so, would that be something you could tackle?”

To which I replied “OH GOD NO.”

Okay. I know, theoretically, how a turkey works. And of course here in the future, we have the Internets to help us with things like that. But still, I am really not comfortable with the idea of my first real-world turkey-roasting experience being a huge Thanksgiving turkey without an experienced turkey-roaster physically within shouting distance in case something goes pear-shaped, and Mom is at the farm. And the absolute last thing I need to do in this family of picky eaters (several of them complain if the potato salad isn’t served in the proper Family Potato Salad Bowl, for Christ’s sake) is destroy the fucking Thanksgiving turkey.

Mom is going into town to get a turkey roaster for the farm, and has promised that for Christmas, she will supervise and I will roast the turkey so that next time someone does this I will be prepared.

Originally published at Fire of Unknown Origin. You can comment here or there.