I'll be heading out in a little while to go to the Thanksgiving Feast at Meego's school. Yep, they pull out all the stops - set up a full buffet line, complete with whole roasted turkeys (not the wonderful "turkey loaf" with fluorescent green gravy we all remember and love from our own school cafeteria days). As a PTO SUCKER... er... volunteer, I get to work the serving line.
It's actually quite fun. Most of the kids get all dressed up and their parents come in to eat with them, also all dressed up. Meego is wearing a pair of camo cargo shorts and an nondescript t-shirt, his typical M.O. He's not a real dress-up kind of guy, and I figure that's one battle I don't need to pick.
Me, I'll break out the girl clothes for the occassion - being a server and all. Last year, I was corn. Maybe this year, I'll be qualified to move up to mashed potatoes. We'll see. Just don't make me carve. Sterno fumes and sharp objects are not a good mix for me.
AND, this feast duty thing serves as excuse #4 as to why I won't do lunch with Neighbor Flanders. I appreciate everyone's advice on my Neighbor Flanders dilemma, but despite the potential for colorful blog entries, I'm going to continue my evasion tactics. To those who have said, "G'head! who knows? You might have fun!" - thing is, I HAVE. I tried saying yes to her invites early on and that's how I KNOW this would be a Lunch of Eternity, and I don't mean that in a good way.
So, off I go to sling some public school Thanksgiving hash. May the sterno fumes be wafting a-plenty!