Three Weeks of Preparation, One Very Nervous Date, and a Family That Wants Answers.
Every November, millions of Americans take on an ambitious project disguised as a holiday.
Thanksgiving dinner.
The advertisements show smiling families gathered around beautifully decorated tables, enjoying delicious food and expressing heartfelt gratitude.
No one mentions the three weeks of planning, two weeks of shopping, and forty-eight hours of cooking it takes to create that heartwarming moment.
Or the fact that someone will inevitably complain about the gravy.
Welcome to Thanksgiving.
Let the games begin.
Three Weeks Before: The Planning Committee
It begins with a single innocent announcement.
“I think I'll host Thanksgiving this year.”
Seven little words spoken by someone who has apparently forgotten what happened last year.
Within hours, the questions start.
Who's coming? What time are we eating? Who's making the dressing? Is Aunt Mildred bringing that casserole again?
Everyone has suggestions.
Very few have volunteered to do anything.
One relative thinks dinner should be served at two, while another prefers four. Someone suggests a healthier menu.
A healthier menu?
Friend, we've waited eleven months for macaroni and cheese, candied sweet potatoes, dressing, and gravy.
If you want steamed cauliflower, there's a perfectly good Tuesday waiting for you.
Then comes the announcement that changes everything.
“Oh, by the way, I'm bringing someone.”
Someone?
As in a date?
To Thanksgiving?
Well, now.
The turkey isn't the only thing about to be inspected.
Two Weeks Before: The Shopping Expedition
The grocery list starts off simply enough.
Turkey. Potatoes. Butter. Eggs.
Three shopping trips later, the host is still searching for an ingredient no one has used since last Thanksgiving and wondering whether butter is now being sold by the ounce or financed through a lending institution.
Meanwhile, the guests are preparing their contributions.
One person has volunteered to bring dessert but hasn't decided what kind.
Another is bringing macaroni and cheese, which is risky because every family has at least two people who believe theirs is superior.
And neither has ever been persuaded otherwise.
Our potential partner has a different problem.
What do you bring to meet the entire family?
Wine? Flowers? Dessert?
What if Grandma doesn't drink?
What if Aunt Mildred considers store-bought pie an insult?
And what if the family thinks bringing wine means you're trying to get everyone drunk enough to overlook your shortcomings?
After considerable deliberation, the date settles on a nice bottle of wine.
A reasonable choice.
Unfortunately, the family has already started asking questions.
One Week Before: The Great Investigation
The host has begun Thanksgiving cleaning.
Not ordinary cleaning.
The kind where you suddenly notice a scratch on the dining room table that's been there since 2018 and decide the linen closet needs reorganizing.
Why?
Are the guests planning to eat in there?
Meanwhile, news of the potential partner has spread through the family.
Aunt Mildred wants to know what they do for a living.
Grandma wants to know where they're from.
Uncle Henry wants to know what kind of car they drive.
And the younger cousins have already found their social media accounts.
“Did you know they went to Jamaica last summer?”
“Who did they go with?”
“There's someone in the pictures.”
“Someone?”
“Looks like an ex.”
And suddenly, the family has launched an investigation into a vacation taken before the relationship even started.
Nobody is being malicious.
They're just curious.
The kind of curious that makes the FBI look understaffed.
Meanwhile, the person bringing the date is pleading with everyone to behave.
“Please don't embarrass me.”
“Of course not!”
A reassuring response.
Especially from people who have already discussed the person's employment prospects, vacation history, and possible relationship status with someone photographed beside a swimming pool.
The Day Before: Kitchen Confidential
By Wednesday, the kitchen looks like a disaster-preparedness center.
The refrigerator is packed.
The counters are covered.
The oven schedule requires advanced mathematics.
And the host is operating on caffeine and an increasingly unrealistic belief that everything will go according to plan.
Someone wanders into the kitchen.
“Can I help?”
“Yes. Find the sweet potatoes.”
“Where are they?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn't need your help.”
Meanwhile, the guests are packing.
One family has enough luggage for a European vacation even though they are staying only two nights.
Another is transporting a casserole across three counties.
And someone has already asked whether to bring containers for leftovers.
Containers?
The turkey is still raw, and you're planning your escape?
Meanwhile, our potential partner is receiving final instructions.
“Just relax. My family is very welcoming.”
“Will they ask a lot of questions?”
“Nothing unusual.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know, where you're from, what you do, and whether you've ever been married.”
A pause.
“Anything else?”
“Probably not.”
Probably.
Such a comforting word.
Thanksgiving Morning: The Final Countdown
The turkey is roasting.
The dressing is ready.
The table looks beautiful.
And the host is running on four hours of sleep and sheer determination.
Then the phone rings.
“We're running late.”
Fine.
Another call.
“Would it be okay if we brought one more person?”
One more person?
Do you think I'm running a restaurant?
The guests begin arriving.
Casseroles appear.
Coats pile up.
Someone wants to taste the gravy.
Someone else asks when dinner will be ready.
Then our potential partner arrives.
Standing on the porch.
Holding a bottle of wine.
Wearing the carefully selected outfit.
Smiling bravely.
Inside, Aunt Mildred peeks through the curtains.
“Is that the new one?”
“Looks nice.”
“Do we know what they do?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, somebody should ask.”
Grandma joins the conversation.
“Did anybody find out whether the person in the Jamaica pictures was an ex?”
“Grandma!”
“What? I'm just asking.”
From the kitchen, the host calls out:
“Would everybody PLEASE let the poor person get through the front door before you start the background check?”
A brief silence.
Then Aunt Mildred speaks.
“Well, I certainly wasn't going to ask about Jamaica.”
Another pause.
“At least not before dessert.”
With that, Thanksgiving is officially underway.
To Be Continued...
The turkey is roasting. The family and guests are gathered. And one unsuspecting date is about to learn that Thanksgiving dinner includes a complimentary background check.
Will the turkey survive?
Will Aunt Mildred's casserole finally receive a favorable review?
Will our potential partner make it through dinner without being asked for references?
We'll find out when I return on December 2.
Until then, enjoy your Thanksgiving preparations.
And if you're bringing someone new to dinner, do them a favor.
Warn them about Aunt Mildred.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Louise Fields