The Minutes of Our Last Meeting - Mrs. Reardon Meets with the Help about Thanksgiving

The Minutes of Our Last Meeting - Mrs. Reardon Meets with the Help about Thanksgiving

 Thanksgiving 2016, when Harry was still alive. I don't know who the hell invited Father Mike. Oh, right. Harry did. Well, not this year!

Thanksgiving 2016, when Harry was still alive. I don't know who the hell invited Father Mike. Oh, right. Harry did. Well, not this year!

By Joe Janes

 

Mrs. Reardon Meets with the Help About Thanksgiving

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

1pm, Kitchen

My agenda items discussed (told) the help staff for Thanksgiving dinner

by me, Mrs. Elizabeth Reardon. Widow.

We will assign seating this year. I will sit nearest the kitchen so I can move back and forth and look more integral to the process of you preparing and serving the food. We can’t have Uncle Ted sit next to my niece Jamie. It’s common knowledge why. I don’t need to explain. I don’t care where he sits as long as he is not in arm’s reach of her or any woman. Put him between Grandpa Joe and Cousin Ric. I’d say put him at the children’s table, but that opens up some other more horrible possibilities. Aunt Alida will be placed at the seat closest to the bathroom because she will make frequent trips, especially if she has had (will have) a few glasses (bottles) of wine. In the main bathroom, leave the vent on and light several extravagantly scented candles because her stools smell like pumpkin squash and her urine smells like she’s been sucking down asparagus dipped in gasoline.

I am officially on the wagon and my glass is to be filled with sparkling apple juice only. Use the designated bottles of “sparkling apple juice” on the top door shelf of the refrigerator. If anyone wants sparkling apple juice, use the bottles on the bottom of the door shelf. DO NOT USE THE BOTTLES ON THE TOP SHELF. Those are for me only.

No guest is to arrive until 2pm. After the parades. If anyone arrives before 2pm they are to take off their shoes and wait in the foyer. Do not offer them anything.

There are many discussion topics that are off limits. The “guests” have been forewarned. There is to be no talk of Donald Trump, Native Americans, Sexual Harassment, the circumstances of my husband’s death, and absolutely no one can ask my daughter Precious how college is going. Activism is not a major.  If you hear anyone broach any of these subjects, please let them know in the most congenial way possible. I will clear my throat and glare. You may do the same.

This is the itinerary:

2pm – Little snack things and drinks in the living room. Nothing fancy. Pickles. Cheese. Crackers. A few things that can be stabbed with a toothpick. No muss. No fuss.

3pm – Thanksgiving Dinner. Turkey. Ham. Precious’s weird fake vegetarian thing that she’ll bring and must deal with on her own because we don’t have the time to deal with fake food. She’ll also have to bring her own dish to serve it in. And then probably hold that in her lap while people help themselves to it (which will be no one).

4pm – Dessert. Pumpkin Pie. Pecan Pie. Apple Pie. Only one slice per person. One scoop of vanilla ice-cream, if desired. Coffee. Just coffee. Nothing fancy (Aunt Alida can go to Starbucks if she  wants a chai latte, which is probably what's making her pee smell weird.).

5pm – Everyone needs to leave. If there are any stragglers, I would appreciate your help in moving them along. Clear the table. Start the vacuum cleaners. Speak loudly and excitedly in Spanish.

5:30pm – You leave. Immediately. You will be paid through the service. You are not to take any leftovers.

I just want everyone to remember the meaning of this holiday. Thanksgiving. Two words that come together to make one. Like individuals who come together to make a family. Thanks. Giving. Thanks - We are thankful for the opportunity to be together and eat food. Giving - I am giving up my free time to do so (He’s dead and this is my annual penalty for taking over his fortune. Thanks a lot, Harry.).

 

 I had the dining room redone. It no longer looks like a funeral.

I had the dining room redone. It no longer looks like a funeral.

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