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Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving are those few holidays that make pigging out okay. Tables usually over piled with juicy spiral ham or turkey, succulent honey glazed carrots, stomach filling stuffing, bland mashed potatoes, and gravy, but of course no holiday is complete without the mouth watering, delicious crumb apple pie with two scoops of vanilla ice-cream for dessert. Family gathered around the table conversing and eating to the point you have to pop open the button of your now to tight jeans. It’s a tradition, but of course in my house I would suggest you don’t eat the gravy.
You know some families have a tradition of singing Christmas carols, saying what their thankful for, or saying a pray before eating, well my family’s tradition is a little, well very different. When I say different I don’t mean two different shades of white different, I’m talking about yin and yang, polar opposite different. This “tradition” has deprived me from the privilege of making a mashed potatoes volcano for three years, when this whole thing started.
Thanksgiving Day 2005 was the beginning of this awful, torturous tragedy. Alright I might be acting a little tiny bit overdramatic, but you would too if you were forced to eat flavorless potatoes without gravy for four years. See everything was going perfect. The turkey wasn’t too dry, the cranberry sauce was chilled, the carrots weren’t overly sweet, and the stuffing was not mush. I had just finished beating the living day lights out of the potatoes when the beeping of the microwave signaled the gravy was heated. Quickly, since I was dying to stuff my face, I put all the food into bowls and carried them out to the table so we could serve ourselves, but I left the gravy for my mother to bring out just happening to be the biggest mistake I could make.
Now is the point when people usually crack up laughing because I tell them why leaving my mother in charge of the gravy was a mistake. Well my mom went to pour herself a glass of Diet Coke and place her cup right next to the gravy bowl you can probably guess what happened next, but if you happen to be a little slow or complete air head I’ll spell it out for you. Cup + being next to gravy bowl + pouring diet coke + not really paying attention = diet coke in the gravy.
I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth. My mom poured diet coke into gravy. Most parents at this point would just mix in the soda, go on pretending that nothing happened and bring the gravy out to the table, but of course I walked in on my mom laughing like a hyena. Curious as to what was so hilarious I walked closer to notice a small bubbling in the gravy and my mother holding an open 2-litter bottle of soda. I kind of put two and two together before cracking up at how my mother could have had such a blond moment when I’m the one with blond hair.
After my brief seconds of insanity I realized that we now had no gravy because I don’t drink soda and I don’t like it. So I was forced to eat the tasteless potatoes, while trying not to gag at the fact my mom and dad still ate the gravy, saying it didn’t taste bad at all and that I was over reacting. Over reacting is letting out a high pitch screech when you find out some tid-bit of information that you do or don’t like. What I was doing was being a normal person who didn’t want to eat soda gravy.
Now I know most people would wonder how this unfortunate event could be considered a tradition. I can answer that easily, Easter 2006. I walked into the chicken to hear my mom say ‘opps’ when she could have been saying, “Opps I did it again,” low and behold the gravy was bubbling and her cup was empty. Guess what my mom and dad had on there mashed potatoes that day…Yep, that’s right, soda gravy.
So my mom did it twice, it was an honest mistake I know, but it was probably over I thought at the point, right…? Wrong. My mom did it again on Christmas this time. At this point I was kind of getting annoyed. Three different holidays with soda gravy, though I did get a little smarter after the second time. Instead of plain mashed potatoes I made my chickened flavored ones. I didn’t have to suffer through forcing unflavored gunk down my throat this time.
After that Christmas it hasn’t happened since, but I still refuse to eat gravy as safety precaution because you never know. I mean my mom could have become smarter too and learned not to tell me, which is why I say if ever come to my house for dinner and gravy is on the menu, save your taste buds from death and don’t eat the gravy.
 BloodKatana · Wed Oct 22, 2008 @ 12:59am · 0 Comments |
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