Thanksgiving

It was a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner. A colorful salad, wondrous sweet potatoes, fluffy mashed potatoes, succulent stuffing, and the most moist, amazing turkey ever (this year was our first year having an organic, free-range turkey, and in Thanksgiving tradition we referred to him during the preparation process as "Tom the Turkey." Owing to his uniqueness in historical context, he quickly became "Tom the Organic Turkey," and shortly thereafter - my stepfather being unable to resist the temptation of a wonderful near-homonym - was christened "Tom the Orgasmic Turkey.").

And so, with Tom the Orgasmic Turkey fresh out of the oven and sliced into little bits, we all sat down at the gorgeously decorated table - complete with crystal wine glasses, our best china, and even tea lights in front of everyone's plates - to begin the gorging process.

About five minutes into dinner my aunt accidentally spills her glass of red wine across the table and into her brother's lap. Panic ensues and everyone (except me, that is - I have lived with a large family long enough to know when there are too many cooks in the kitchen) springs into action. My mother throws down her napkin and runs upstairs to get a towel, which drops from the landing a few seconds later onto the foyer floor below. My aunt jumps up and attacks the tablecloth with her own napkin. My uncle stands and begins wiping the wine from his (thankfully) black pants. My stepfather lunges at the floor with a bottle of Resolve and the towel previously mentioned. And so, having no duty to fill and with a mouth full of mashed potatoes and gravy, I calmly reach for the salt and pepper shakers resting in front of my mother's plate.

Which is when I notice that her napkin is on fire.

"OMIGOD FIRE!!"

In a moment of weakness for which I shall never forgive myself, I forget every ounce of fire safety training in all those endless elementary school assemblies with Spot the Fire Dog. I instinctively grab the edge of the napkin and fling it skyward and away from the candle flame, transforming it into a flying silk fireball in my left hand. More panic ensues.

Suffice it to say that the house did not burn down and we survived the experience of feasting on Tom the Orgasmic Turkey. Ah, Thanksgiving.