The woman who has a nose to rival mine, which rivals that of the best bloodhounds, blissfully ignored the scents in her home and wafting out the front door on Thanksgiving Day.
We arrived Thursday mid-day to her condominium and looked at each other in wonder. "Was that smell coming from Mom's house?" We questioned each other? We got in the house, wished her a Happy Thanksgiving, then asked her what the smell was.
She wondered if it was the kitty litter Dad just took out to the garbage but no, it was too strong. Then she finally wondered aloud if it was the turkey and then said she thought it was. Uh, yeah Mom, play like you care now. That bird was almost cooked to the end. If you had meant to keep us safe you would have chucked it a while ago. Thank goodness our own noses thwarted her! HA, take THAT mom! We didn't want the Butterball Turkey anyway.
We took the bird and stuffing out to the back deck, shut the door and opened all other doors and windows to air the place out. Then we called around, found a almost completely thawed bird at a nearby store and went and bought it. A water bath finished the thawing, some cutting and chopping produced a stuffing and we stuffed the bird, threw it in the oven and drank our afternoon away while it cooked.
(Oh yeah, and we Skyped Ms. Pyjamas - she's a follower and friend of mine and if you haven't visted her blog yet, get on over there. I met her husband via Skype, I thought it only fair she met my crazy family, too. I'll leave it to her to comment on first impressions. Let's just say, it wasn't pretty.)
Now, because dinner ended up fantastic, mom had plenty of wine on hand to assuage our indignity at her Agatha Christie plot, because mom made me go to JoAnn's so she could get me the pinking shears I asked for Christmas, and because I ended up with a GO cutter (only one die so far), I have decided the weekend worked out alright in the end and I love my Mother anyway.
So, a Happy belated Thanksgiving all and to my Mother, better luck next time. We outsmarted you this round!