Turkey Day Blues

So... as I finally find a place that will make a full Thanksgiving dinner for less money than my gas bill for the month (thanks alpharyoko for the heads up on that, BTW) and the Army sends DH home with a turkey. A ginormous frozen Butterball. Cause he's "new and married".

Now, I know they meant it as a nice gesture... but we don't cook. I can't stand it. Never have, and whatever deity you wish to call on willing, I never will. If it's more complicated than Hamburger Helper, I don't bother.

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, I made an effort. I bought turkey slices from the local Deli (which I warmed in the microwave). I actually turned on the gas stove (which I hate with the passion of a thousand lunatics all demanding their weekly tapioca pudding) and made instant mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, rolls, and defrosted a Sara Lee chocolate cream pie. I even got out the good dishes.

So there you go. I did it once (sort of). I should never be forced to do it again, right? No. Because in this world when you tell people "I don't cook" they look at you like you are a freak and demand to know why.

And, apparently, "I don't want to" isn't a good enough reason. Neither is "I hate the gas stove, open flames are the suck." How about "I never learned, nor do I have any interest in learning." No?

All I get is, "It's easy. All you need are..." and then a component list the size of my upper arm. I don't understand how buying accessories that I will never wear or play with is going to make this potentially traumatic experience Fun. And then it's "You can buy a disposable pan, less to clean."

Or I could just buy the entire dinner already cooked and eat out of the containers they send in a little picnic on the floor with the husband and then toss everything when we're done! No plates, no dishes, no cleaning!

Maybe I'm not cut out to be a domestic goddess. I don't wash the laundry, I don't cook, I don't clean the litter boxes. Heck, I didn't even get out of bed until four this afternoon (although, that was DH's fault).

Where do I sign up to be a spoiled trophy wife? That's the job I want.

Turkey Day Blues

So... as I finally find a place that will make a full Thanksgiving dinner for less money than my gas bill for the month (thanks alpharyoko for the heads up on that, BTW) and the Army sends DH home with a turkey. A ginormous frozen Butterball. Cause he's "new and married".

Now, I know they meant it as a nice gesture... but we don't cook. I can't stand it. Never have, and whatever deity you wish to call on willing, I never will. If it's more complicated than Hamburger Helper, I don't bother.

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, I made an effort. I bought turkey slices from the local Deli (which I warmed in the microwave). I actually turned on the gas stove (which I hate with the passion of a thousand lunatics all demanding their weekly tapioca pudding) and made instant mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, rolls, and defrosted a Sara Lee chocolate cream pie. I even got out the good dishes.

So there you go. I did it once (sort of). I should never be forced to do it again, right? No. Because in this world when you tell people "I don't cook" they look at you like you are a freak and demand to know why.

And, apparently, "I don't want to" isn't a good enough reason. Neither is "I hate the gas stove, open flames are the suck." How about "I never learned, nor do I have any interest in learning." No?

All I get is, "It's easy. All you need are..." and then a component list the size of my upper arm. I don't understand how buying accessories that I will never wear or play with is going to make this potentially traumatic experience Fun. And then it's "You can buy a disposable pan, less to clean."

Or I could just buy the entire dinner already cooked and eat out of the containers they send in a little picnic on the floor with the husband and then toss everything when we're done! No plates, no dishes, no cleaning!

Maybe I'm not cut out to be a domestic goddess. I don't wash the laundry, I don't cook, I don't clean the litter boxes. Heck, I didn't even get out of bed until four this afternoon (although, that was DH's fault).

Where do I sign up to be a spoiled trophy wife? That's the job I want.