Sunday, April 01, 2007

The Great Gravy Fight of 2002

Thanksgiving is my second favorite Holiday. The fourth of July takes the cake, because you get to BBQ and get drunk and blow up some shit. THANK YOUR BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND GEORGE WASHINGTON you have made my summer!

But Thanksgiving…oh, what a great holiday! You stuff yourself full of food and pass out early. And you get that Friday off of work (you do, I do not. Fuckers.)

Well, this is a little story about how things can go in a terribly funny route.

The first thing you need to remember is how my brother Jameson doesn’t drink Champaign every day. He’s a beer and wine guy. (Yes, I am fully aware that Champaign is just sparkling wine, but I don’t care.) So, my brother decided that even before dinner, he is going to chug some Champaign. He continues to chug Champaign throughout the dinner. Then us kids are left to clean up the house while my parents went out to visit with friends or family or someone. My brother continues to chug Champaign.

Then, he starts a mashed potato and gravy fight. Now, let me explain how this went down, because it’s not like he said, “Say gals, you know what sounds like fun? Throwing hot gravy at each other! Hooray!” It was more like he threw a fistful of gravy at me. He missed. He hit Penelope, my little sister. She. Is. Shocked. Banshee doesn’t describe the noise she makes, giving a possum a hysterectomy with a rusty spoon better describes it.

And then she grabs a fistful of mashed potatoes, and it is on.

Well, all of this excitement has gotten my (very) drunk brother all wound up. Now, I ask you, if you got (extremely) trashed and then proceeded to run around for an hour – what do you think your next move would be?

If you said throw up in the sink for 10 minutes straight, but without taking out the drain stopper – or – removing dishes, to the point that you fill the sink – then you would be correct! Because that is what he did.

I cleaned up all the gravy & potatoes off the walls/curtains/chandliers/Peneoples while Jameson just looked at what he had done.

There is a rule in our house, and that rule was when the dog vomits – whomever sees it first has to clean it up. This is also true for piss and shit. Now, if you could get away with tiptoeing around it, and making sure no one sees you see it, well then it’s like you never saw it.

We took this stance on the vomit in the sink, since no one wanted to stick their hand in to get the stopper out.

As though the dog did it.

Don’t worry, I hope to someday pay my mother back for all the times she stepped directly into the could-have-been-prevented dog piss/vomit/shit, and times she has found moldy/crusty potatoes on lampshades and wondered aloud sweet God why? – someday I will have children just like me. She seems to revel in this reward. She tells me this daily.

Hmm…

6 comments:

James Bannockburne said...

Aah, good times. I remember that night man. I fell on the dog, I was wandering around outside aimlessly, and then the barfing. Then I got up before Dad the next day and left the state before he could wake up and be mad ROFL

Pam said...

*champagne*

Sorry, couldn't help myself!

Becca said...

Dammit Pam! That's not what microspft word says!

Lola said...

my family was the same way when the basement flooded.
guess who was the only one to ever go into the basement.
harrumph.

Lola said...

my family was the same way when the basement flooded.
guess who was the only one to ever go into the basement.
harrumph.

Becki said...

I wasn't going to say it, but Pam beat me too it. Champaign is where I live- champagne is what I drink.