It started innocently enough. The day after Thanksgiving, we were sitting on the couch digesting round two of turkey and pie. I can't remember what was on TV, but something triggered the memory to resurface in my husband's mind.
"Your turkey story?" I asked suspiciously.
I asked about some basic details before he began. Because, you guys, my husband has some stories, and many I prefer not to know. Mostly because I'm a delicate flower, but also because I'm not the best listener when it comes to certain stories. Let's just say that no one likes a dry-heaving lightweight. But this one seemed kosher based on the following:
Setting: Western New York, snowboarding some gorge (which was probably way dangerous but I'LL BITE MY TONGUE given the statute of limitations.)
Characters: Other hoodrat friends. [My terminology. Ahem.]
"Yeah, my turkey story," he said with a faint smile. A smile I interpreted as the kind one uses when reflecting upon fond memories.
"I don't believe you have, mister. Tell me."
"Well, it was me and like three other guys. We'd been snowboarding through the woods for a bit and had noticed this turkey. It would occasionally flutter by us and we noticed that it was flying kind of funny."
Here's where I get all warm and fuzzy with visions of my husband making a make-shift sling for the poor creature's wing out of soft pine branches and excavated frozen leaves, then transporting it back to his house where he made local headlines for his tender heart, ultimately gaining the attention of the White House, where he later presented the turkey to the President for a full pardon.
"Are you paying attention, wife?"
I snap out of my reverie to give him the thrill of recounting those details himself. "Yes! Keep going, my love." I link my arm into his devotedly.
"Well, after this happened a few times, we were finally able to come up on the thing and grab it."
So, "grab" is a bit menacing, don't you think? But I'm sure he's just putting a macho spin on the thing, right?
"And one of the guys takes it by the neck and rings it. Then we took it home, and man, that was some of the best turkey I'd ever tasted."
He looked over at me, content with our little story hour, but I didn't realize there was going to be a surprise ending, and was a bit stunned. But not so stunned that I couldn't muster the energy to FREAK OUT.
"Wait, WHAT?! You KILLED THE TURKEY? I thought you said it was flying funny? What was wrong with it? Why didn't you take it to the vet? And..."
"Wife. It was flying funny because it's leg was all messed up. You could tell he'd had a previous injury and it was all gangrene."
My eyes darted about as I ran through some scenarios in my mind. Surely he could have fashioned the poor turkey a set of crutches? MacGyver surely would've been able to use some saliva and sap to mix up a quick batch of magical ointment!
"Well, wait, YOU DIDN'T KILL IT DID YOU?" I unhooked my arm from his, feeling a wave of terror.
He rolled his eyes and smirked. "Of course not wife. One of the other guys did it. It was really their idea, but I'm telling you, that turkey tasted..."
"So, IN OTHER WORDS, you just stood there in a form of silent protest, RIGHT?"
He reply was rote. "Yes. Of course. I looked on with utter horror, wife."
I snuggled back up to him. "Of course you did. What else could you do?! I mean, any dissidence may have had you strung up next to the turkey with those sociopaths!"
By the way, for those interested, the Oswald cake was a bit more successful than the cupcakes.
And while T9 was able to correctly identify the creature, he DID get a hint from Daddy before the quiz. Which was probably a good idea. No one likes the taste of mother's tears mixed in with their blue frosting.