Turkey, Turkey, Turkey, I Made It out of Clay ... Oh Wait. Wrong Holiday.

Thanksgiving was, well, fattening. We headed up to Red Beard's parents' house that afternoon. For some twisted reason, we felt compelled to stop for burgers and fries on our way to Thanksgiving dinner. (Emotional eating perhaps?) I wasn't even hungry by the time I sat down, but I soldiered through, all the way to the pie. Then Red Beard and I hit our friends' house for some drinks and, believe it or not, chips, dips and cheeses. I don't know how I did it, but I think I ate for twelve hours straight.

On Friday, we rode five hours (should have been about four and a half, but there was a billion-car pile-up on the road in front of us, and we were turned around on the highway) to my parents house. The four of us pounded shocking amounts of wine (about a bottle a piece) and ate another Thanksgiving dinner at 10 p.m.

Saturday afternoon, Red Beard played golf with my dad and Boy while Mom and I went shopping for Christmas decorations. I can't imagine what that must have been like for the men-folk, but they all seemed to have a good time. After Boy, Red Beard and I relaxed in front of the boob tube for a little while, we went for dinner at the country club with the parentals. A plate of filet mignon later, you could have rolled me out of that joint.

At home that night, I snuck into bed with Red Beard. I don't know if my parents have any clue that their daughter spent the night in bed with (gasp) a man under their (gasp) roof, but they didn't give any indication if they knew. Red Beard was very careful to avoid all physical contact, probably in case Dad busted down the door with a shotgun, and then Red Beard could point at me and say he didn't even know I was there.

Sunday we had a big brunch of scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and coffee before getting back on the road. Then the most awesome part happened on the way home. We got a speeding ticket. Hang on, sorry. I meant that was the crappy part. We were trying to avoid this van that was alternately swerving all over the highway, then coming nearly to a stop before swerving again, so Red Beard hit the gas to get around the moron, and well. Yeah. Ticket City.

All in all, aside from the constant gorging, I would call the holiday a success. No one died or got in a fight or did anything embarrassing. That's all that really matters, right? Because I would at least expect something humiliating to happen. There are always plenty of opportunities when you're spending tons of time with your significant other's parents ... a foot in mouth here* or a broken antique there ... But nope, nothing weird or awkward** transpired. I think we're pretty darn lucky. Let's hope we make it through Christmas without incident.

*Like the time Red Beard dropped the F-bomb in front of my non-swearing father this summer. Thankfully, Dad can seem slightly like a space cadet at times and it went over his head, likely with the help of the lethal cocktails we were slurping at the moment.

**Over Easter dinner with Red Beard's parents, I behaved like a mute. His mother's only impression of me was that I am quiet. Way to be misleading on my part.

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