Blame it on Bambi

The Prude and a little friend were reading a story before Thanksgiving.

A turkey plays a bit part in the story at the beginning, and plays it with charm, but The Prude was still worried.

When a turkey is introduced into a Thanksgiving tale it is seldom because tofu is on the dinner menu. How would her little friend handle the sharp axe of reality slicing through her glowing childhood world?

The Prude snuggled her little friend closer, ready to comfort her at the critical moment when the turkey’s head would leave its body.

But wonder of wonders! The author must have watched Bambi or read Beatrix Potter as a child. The turkey plays an impromptu walk-on role in the school play. Affection for him abounds and at the end of the story his warty head is still firmly attached to his scrawny neck.

The Prude looked in relief and satisfaction at her little friend.

Who looked back up at her in outrage and poked a small, wrathful finger at the last page.

“What? When are they going to kill the turkey?”

And The Prude realized that she was sitting next to a new breed of Hardy Girlhood.

A girl raised with animals whose main function is to feed growing children. A girl who has actually seen the birds and the bees in action. A girl who knows that the cute, cuddly bunnies will eventually turn up in her stew.

In short, this child did not cut her teeth on Bambi. She cut them on a nice turkey drumstick that only days before had been strutting around being charming and rehearsing, in futile hope, his entrance into the school play.

Dot-Dot-Pass-the-Gravy-Dash–

You see it on action adventure shows. The Heroine is strapped to a chair, her mouth taped shut. Her rescuer is about to cut the cord that binds her when he notices she is blinking in a surprisingly rhythmic manner.  Being fluent in Morse, he recognizes the code and reads her fluttering eyelashes: CHAIR—BOOBYTRAPPED––– DON’T- CUT– THE––– RED- WIRE--- YOU- DODO–––––

A Brave Hero trapped underground sends an urgent Morse code using traffic lights or neon signs. A Boy Scout or Navy Seal happens by, correctly interprets the signals, and clears the area before the evil genius,(who took time to loosely bind the Brave Hero in an inconvenient underground chamber instead of just shooting him point blank) can loose a dirty bomb.

You get the idea.  Someone is in trouble but can’t communicate via ordinary means. That Someone knows Morse. Someone blinks it or taps it or flashes it and another Someone who also knows Morse reads it and responds.

The Prude needs to learn Morse for 3 reasons.

- What if she is sitting at a frantically Morse Coding traffic signal? What if there are no Boy Scouts or Navy Seals around? How will she know what to do?

-Things get a little crazy at a 12-foot long Thanksgiving table. The person on the opposite end  hogging the gravy boat who claims he can’t hear repeated requests may take The Prude seriously if she blinks ‘PASS- THE- GRAVY-NOW-OR-I’LL-MAKE—SURE-YOU-GET---NO-TURKEY–––

-And finally, The Prude may need rescuing from herself.

Her mouth, taken captive by a gluttonous and overindulgent desire, may say ‘Just one more sliver of the Tollhouse Pie please. With just a smidge of whipped cream’  

But maybe she can dredge up enough willpower and memory of last year’s gastronomical misery for her short lashes to bat out,

DON’T-LISTEN–-TUMMY-IS----BOOBYTRAPPED––––– 

Faulty Thanksgiving Shut-Off Syndrome

The Prude Family members have a problem.  Although they strongly disapprove of gluttony, rash promises and self-deception, these three vices embark on a collision course that results in great misery and foolish promises beginning Thanksgiving Day and cycling through to the following morning.

We call this Faulty Thanksgiving Shut-Off Syndrome and it is Not Our Fault.

It is physiological.

Note- The illustration is solely for enhancement purposes and is not meant to represent any person in the Prude’s immediate or extended family.

 Note #2: The Brain is saying 'I'll Never Eat Again. Ever' in the illustration. This was The Prude's attempt at verisimilitude and making the brain look all squiggly like a real brain.

Here is what happens:

The eyes, nose and taste buds join in a conspiracy on Thanksgiving Day and lull the victims and their tummy shut-off valves into a false belief that they can continue fitting vast quantities of food down the food pipe and into said tummy.

But then the victim consumes a final piece of Toll House pie. The pie wedges the shut-off valve in the ‘jammed open’ position just as the eyes, nose and taste buds disband from exhaustion and fall asleep.

The shut-off valve at this point goes into crisis mode.

It alerts the Stand-by Over Ride Chain which is directly connected to the
‘I’ll Never Eat Again. Ever.’ section of the brain.

The victim repeats this mantra over and over again.

And then  joins the nose, eyes and taste buds in uneasy and painful slumber.

However, while the victim and the victim’s senses doze, the tummy is busy compacting all the turkey, stuffing, sauces, casseroles, vegetables and, finally, the offending Toll House pie.  Then, still while the victim sleeps and dreams of a foodless future- or at most one populated with celery sticks dipped in hummus, the various foodstuffs are redirected away from the tummy to go their merry way.

The layers drop and the Shut Off Valve slams down into place, which disconnects the Stand-by Over Ride Chain which returns to ‘sleep’ mode.

The brain switches from ‘I’ll Never Eat Again. Ever’ function to the ‘What’s For Breakfast’ position just as the eyes, nose and taste buds, alert and refreshed, stretch, yawn, and kick into high gear.

And The Family Prude arises and has leftover Toll House Pie for breakfast.