Not everything smells good at Thanksgiving |

Not everything smells good at Thanksgiving

“Oh my GAWD!” I gasped at husband-head as I looked around. “I can’t believe you just did that … get away from me!”

Husband-head grinned from ear-to-ear and looked pretty pleased with himself.

I had made him come to the grocery store with me to buy stuff for our Thanksgiving dinner.

However, I had not counted on him passing gas in the very crowded store.

“PEW!” he hissed under his breath, as he quickly high-tailed it down to the far end of the aisle, leaving me standing there knowing that the lady behind me probably thought that I did it.

This is only one of the reasons I do not normally take husband-head with me on my shopping ventures. He also tends to freak out at the number of things I buy, although I always wonder where he thinks all the stuff he enjoys at home comes from.

On this trip, I had put him in charge of the cart to follow me around while I shopped.

“A whole turkey or a turkey breast?” I asked him while we were in the meat department.

It was actually a stupid question since I’m fully aware that husband-head does not like to eat anything that looks like what it used to be.

Husband-head didn’t respond because he was busy doing donuts with the cart in front of the hamburger.

So without waiting for an answer, I grabbed a boneless turkey breast.

“Green bean casserole or not?” I said, staring at the canned vegetables in the next aisle.

Typically, being from the Mid-West, his eyes light up at anything with the word “casserole” in it.

“Why do we even have to make a big production?” he shrugged. “Let’s just have chicken wings and beer for Thanksgiving. It’s really all about football, you know.”

I’m not even sure he knows the story about the pilgrims.

“Yams or mashed potatoes?” I asked.

“Do the MASHED POTATO!” he began dancing around, oblivious to the fact that other people were now starting to stare.

Then he started laughing and I could tell from his face that he’d done it again.

“That’s it ” gimme the cart,” I said, pulling it away from him. “There’s people with KIDS in here that are better behaved than you are.”

“OK, I’m going to the happy, fun aisle then,” he said, obviously glad to be relieved of duty.

Fine with me.

The ‘happy, fun aisle” is the one that either has candy, toys or magazines of women featured in various stages of undress.

“Good,” I agreed. “Go blow somebody else out of the water …”

Husband-head took off and I continued my shopping.

But then, like a herpes sore, he came back again.

“Are we done yet?” he complained. “I’m bored.”

He looked in the cart and his eyes got real big at all the stuff piled in it.

“Are you having 350 of your closest friends over for dinner or what?” he said. “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

“Do you want stuffing?” I said, ignoring the comment.

“I’ll stuff you,” he threatened.

My last stop was for a pie. After many years of marriage, husband-head finally admitted to me that he doesn’t really like pie. However, he likes a piece of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, they don’t sell single slices of pie at the store.

“Just take a piece out and put the rest back,” husband-head whispered as I perused the pies.

“I am NOT going to jail for that,” I whispered back. “Do you want me to get some whipped cream?”

“Oh yeah, baby,” he said, not realizing it had anything to do with the pie at all.

I was finally done and pushed the cart to the checkout line while husband-head stood behind me.

I was writing out my check to the cashier when I again noticed the grin on his face before I smelled it.

Husband-head ran off towards the exit, leaving me standing there.

I didn’t even want to turn around and look at the lady behind me.

Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at

Post Independent, Glenwood Springs Colorado CO

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