Leave it to Beaver

Ironically, that's how I describe modern day Thanksgiving. For a brief moment I was under the impression that Thanksgiving...aka "Fatty Freedom Day" was all about eating and napping. I have since learned otherwise. Rest assured... I am no June Cleaver. In fact, she would be right mortified (southern English) to meet the likes of me! I'm sorry to report that I do not run around the house in heels, pearls and a fluffy skirt whilst waiting on men folk as they sit on their lazy asses. Nah...my version of "Cleaverage" involves sweatpants, a gravy stained t-shirt and lots of me complaining about having to cook all freakin day whilst the men do what they do best....a whole lota nothin! I can't imagine the Pilgrims were this chauvinistic...and if they were, at least the chicks got to wear decent clothing. Do you have any idea how much of me I could fit into a Pilgrim frock? Hell, I could eat for days and still look like a supermodel...being that I have such a pretty face n all.

Let's revisit my Thanksgiving Day shall we? I went for a nice 6 mile run so that I could add a few hundred extra helpings of....everything. That went well. I came back hoping to get a nap before consumption. Nope. It seems that if you have a "beaver," you are required by law to work on the holiday...as an indentured servant to the penis living amongst you...and all his friends and family. Not that that varies so much from a normal work week... but the part where I spend hours cooking whilst men sit around and do whatever it is they do...well... it's almost enough to set off a round of random bitch slappin with the pearls I wasn't wearing but was willing to put on for ammunition. Instead of resorting to violence, I did what I do best....I complained about it ALL DAY AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. June Cleaver would be right proud (southern English again)...you know that bitch would have thrown a heel if she wasn't so damn oppressed. I got your back gurl...and for the record....it does exactly no good to retaliate. Men don't listen....not even to a beaver. Only for a beaver I fear.

I shant tell a lie...Mother did 99.9% of the cooking....except the super fattening stuff which I had to cook bcs...well let's just say bcs I'm highly qualified for the job. My Thanksgiving table is all about starch. All kinds of potatoes, bread and basically anything that sets me up for my post consumption slar phase (that's a nap to all you non Conehead fans). I need to sleep after I eat. If I remain awake I might be forced to kill myself...for various reasons:

1. It would be an easy way to lose weight. After they pull out your organs, your certain to shed a few pounds . I've been watching "Dr. G" (medical examiner) to learn how much my organs weigh so I can subtract that number from the erroneous digits produced by my lying ass scale....clearly I have no control over how much my liver weighs so why should I have to take on the extra pounds? I shouldn't.

2. I would have to listen to dumb men yell at the TV about a stupid ball carried by more dumb men who are too dumb to work together as a team. Imagine that.

3. I would have to do the dishes. That's all I have to say about that.

4. I would have to be alive to bear witness to this atrocity again next year. It's more than I can bear...even for 4,000,000 calories in a 24 hour period. There must be a binge eating corner in Heaven with my name on it.

So as you can see, what should have been my Caloric Christmas turned into a warped version of what life has become sans Cleaver's. Maybe I should move to TV Land. Life seemed ideal there. The men work. The women stay home and bang the Gardner...I mean cook and clean... and the children are all well behaved. I wasn't alive when all of this "fake life" crap was happening but I can't imagine the women back then were happy to have "Man Waiter" listed on their resume in exchange for watching Days of Our Lives on the regular. We all know what was really going on...Dad was nailing the Secretary, Mom was taking prescription crack to suppress her submissive role in life and the kids were smokin pot behind the garage. Now that's the show I want to see! Can you imagine Thanksgiving in that household! Little Johnny would be eating all of the food and giggling uncontrollably, Mother wouldn't eat a thing bcs she would too busy running laps around the house and Dad would have to "step out" for a quickie business meeting around dessert. That's reality TV. I'm pitchin that one to the networks.

Perhaps I haven't done my job in explaining to you the rage that takes over my body when dinner is finished and the men just up and leave the table whilst the women fall into place in the kitchen scrubbing and slaving over dirty dishes left behind by the Ward Cleaver's who still think it's ok to "Leave it to Beaver!" Well this Beaver aint havin it! See that shiny box over there...it's called a "dishwasher"....she right sized my ass and I'm O'freakin K with it so go ahead and introduce yourself bcs you're gonna become right good (more southern English) friends when you are single again! If that relationship doesn't work out...I'll introduce you to my other friend "Dixie"- she's a real "dish"-- paper plate to be exact! She's less work....just use her and throw 'er out. Should work out well for ya! As for who's gonna cook the dinner you place on your "dish"...better call the one responsible for making you so "chivaless"...Mama! Perhaps the longest run on paragraph in history. Made possible by the penis...forgive me.

When all is said and done, there's always dessert. Like the icing on the cake, having dessert after a rage filled Thanksgiving somehow returns life back to normal. It's easier to make, easier to clean up and easier to throw. I would never disrespect a pie by throwing it at a worthless cause. I'd rather put it towards a meaningful cause.... my mouth...cause I like it! If you are under the impression that I'm a man hater who overuses the word whilst, you are wrong. The word whilst is a beautiful word, that sounds way better than while and should be used as often as possible. That settles that. I hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I did..in spite of my militant
anti-Cleaver views on the subject. I've moved on... to Christmas. My kinda holiday....fat man gets little slaves to make toys whilst random endangered species fly him across the world to eat cookies, drink milk and make Merry. Bout time a man did something worthwhile!

I swear I'm not a man hater...Thanksgiving was just a bit traumatic. If you are a "man fan" take notes and act right next year! SIF out!