I tried counting backwards, I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned - the dark meat and white
But I fought the temptation with all of my might

Tossing and turning with anticipation
The thought of a snack became infatuation.

So, I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door
And gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore.

I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
Pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
'Til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.

I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky
With a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie.

But, I managed to yell as I soared past the trees....
Happy eating to all - pass the cranberries, please.

May your stuffing be tasty, may your turkey be plump.
May your potatoes 'n gravy have nary a lump,
may your yams be delicious may your pies take the prize,
may your thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs.

Happy Thanksgiving to All!!!

Submitted by Aunt Pat, Smith Lake, Va.
 

My big brother Tom took me out on the stoop.

Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was something that I just had to know;

His look and his tone I will always remember,
When he told me of horrors... .come late in November.;

"Come about August, now listen to me, Each day you'll
get six meals instead of just three,

And soon you'll be thick, where once you were thin, And
you'll grow a big rubbery thing on your chin;

"And then one morning, when you're warm in your bed,
the farm wife comes in and hacks off your head;

"Then she'll pluck out your feathers so you're all bald
'n pink, And scoop out your innards right there in the
sink;

"And then comes the worst part" he said...... I'm not
bluffing, "She'll spread your cheeks wide n' pack your
rear with stuffing".

Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat, I
sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat,

And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked, I'm
gonna' lay low to remain overlooked

I began a new diet of nuts and granola, High-roughage
salads, carrot juice,... diet cola;

And as they ate pastries, chocolate, and crepes, I
stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes;

I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half, And
act like I'm sick when the bigger birds laughed;

for 'twas I who was laughing, under my breath, As they
chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death;

And sure enough when late November rolled around, I was
the last turkey left walking around......

So now I'm a pet in the farmer's wife's lap; I haven't
a worry, so I eat...... and I nap;

She holds me all day, while sewing and humming, And
smiles at me, and says: "Christmas is coming"

One November afternoon when my daughter was in kindergarten, I picked

her up after school. She bobbed out to the car and crawled into the back seat. "What did you do today?" I asked. She couldn't wait to tell me. "We learned that boys are different from girls," she chirped. Looking into the rearview mirror, I could just see the top of her head. "My teacher told us that boys have a thing the girls don't," she added

"Well, yes they do..." I said cautiously. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so we were quiet for a moment. Then she piped up again. "That's how girls know that boys are boys," she said. "They see that thing that hangs down and they know that he is a boy."

I mentally calculated the distance home. Our five-minute commute already felt like an hour.

"Did you know that when the boys see a girl they puff up?" My palms were beginning to sweat. "Um...well..."

I was still searching for something new to say, to change the subject, when she asked, "Why do the girls like the boys to have those things?" Well I didn't know what to say. I mean, what woman hasn't asked herself that question at least once?

"Oh, well...um..." I stammered.

She didn't wait for my answer. She had her own. "It's cause it moves when they walk and then the girls see that and that's when they know they are boys and that's when they like them. Then the boy sees the girl and he puffs up, and then the girl knows he likes her, too. And then they get married. And then they get cooked."

That last part confused me a bit, but on the whole I thought she had a pretty good grasp on things. As soon as we got home and I pulled into the garage, she hopped out of the car, fishing something out of her school bag.

"I drew a picture," she said. "Do you want to see?"

I wasn't sure I did, but I looked at it anyway. I had to sit down.

There, all puffed up so to speak, looking mighty attractive for the ladies, was a crayon drawing of a great big Tom Turkey. His snood, the thing that hangs down over his beak, the thing that female turkeys find so irresistible, was magnificent. His tail feathers were standing tall and proud.

She was a little offended that I laughed so hard at her drawing, and I laughed until I cried. But when I told her I loved it - and I did - she got over her pique.

That was the end of that, for her anyway. But I'm not so lucky.

Every year I remember that conversation.

And to be honest, I haven't looked at a turkey, or a man, the same way since.

Happy Thanksgiving.