My Weirdest Thanksgiving Ever
We had so much fun, the chicken was awesome. Then I got back home and started reading everyone’s blogs, all the while wondering to myself how we actually had a real Thanksgiving celebration for the first time in years. When all of a sudden I remembered that there was, indeed, one other year. It all started with my coworker Dave. Don’t worry, Dave doesn’t work with me anymore, or live in our area, for that matter. Anyway, a few years ago, Dave surprised me one October afternoon when he stopped me in the hallway and asked what we were doing for Thanksgiving.
“Why, nothing,” I told him.
“Cool! Can you guys come over to our house for dinner?”
“Sure, thanks for inviting us Dave.”
“Ah, that’s nothing,” Dave offered. “My wife told me that, if I don’t bring any guests, then she’s going to invite her mother over. I told her, I’d rather pick a bum off the street.”
The guys sitting in cubicles next to ours poked their heads out, obviously interested in the conversation, but Dave offered no further confessions. I thanked him again, and assured that we’d come. My kids were thrilled to hear the news, they had met Dave’s kids before and got along with them pretty well.
Fast forward a month, it’s the week before Thanksgiving and I decide to give old Dave a call, to make sure they’re still hosting the dinner. Dave sounded really surprised.
“Um, er, you didn’t call to confirm, so we decided you weren’t coming, so we accepted an invitation from our friends. So, er, we won’t be home Thanksgiving night. See, you didn’t confirm, see. How could we know, right?”
I found myself feeling sorry for Dave. How could I set him up like that?
“That’s okay, Dave, no problem at all, hey, listen, do you guys want to come over the day after Thanksgiving? You do? Cool, I’ll make dinner. We’ll see you then. Thanks, Dave.”
So the day after Thanksgiving, I cooked dinner, and, before long, in came Dave, his wife, and their three children.
Allow me to take a break from my story right here to tell you that Dave is a devout Christian, very vocal about his faith in the workplace, and apparently very active at his church.
Back to my regularly scheduled post. Dave’s family stayed till about midnight, and we actually had a lot of fun. His wife is a really cool woman. She stayed at home and homeschooled their children, and was doing a great job, because they were really great kids.
So, I chatted with Dave’s wife while she helped me set the table for dinner. After dinner, the kids ran off to play, and the four of us decided to play euchre. So we’re sitting there playing euchre, the Goldies against the Daves, and Dave is friggin cheating. He’s winning, and getting all excited about it. We switch teams and play the guys against the girls, and what do you know, Dave’s cheating again. It’s like his whole life depends on this single euchre game. Whatever, we all just laugh it off.
Dave then proceeds to have a drinking contest with Mr. Goldie. Mr. Goldie, being a Russian guy, has years of experience and knows how to hold his liquor. But Dave is a big boy. So, an hour later, poor Mr. Goldie is passed out in the bedroom; Dave is parading around the house going, “I won! I won! I beat the Russian guy!”; and Dave’s wife is visibly dying of embarrassment. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, and told Dave it was time to go home. Which made perfect sense, as the Daves lived forty miles away from us, and it really was getting late.
So, Dave’s family starts getting ready to leave, and does it as follows. Dave’s wife is trying to get her three kids all dressed and ready to go. The kids, as it normally happens at parties, are all hyper and don’t cooperate very well. Meanwhile, Dave is sitting in the car and honking the horn at three-minute intervals. If it was Mr. Goldie doing this, I swear I’d be a widow today, but Dave’s wife is a real saint. She loads the kids in the car, gets in, and they leave.
As I found out when I saw them a month later, Dave drove all the way home that night. That’s right, the man who had just beaten a Russian guy at a vodka-drinking contest, drove forty miles with his entire family in the car. His wife begged him to let her drive, but he wouldn't hear of it. That was by far the most memorable Thanksgiving we’ve ever had.
Inexplicably, Mr. Goldie refused to invite Dave to our house ever again. Men. Who can understand them?