If I never see a piece of turkey again, it will be too soon.  Roast turkey with traditional sides, turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, turkey pot pie, turkey casserole, oh-god-not-turkey-again surprise, for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy- please-feed-me-something-else-turkey-on-toast.

I'm tired of it.  In fact, I'm so fed up with turkey that a McDonald's hamburger tasted good.  McDonald's y'all!  The food of hangovers was a welcome change from the blasted turkey.  Now, don't get me wrong, normally I love Turkey.  I even roast turkey breasts a couple times during the year. 

After multiple days of nothing but turkey, I can't take it anymore.  Turkey for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is just too much.  It's finally broken me.  For years, I could do it.  I ate leftovers until they were all gone.  I ate turkey in all ways, shapes, and forms.  I ate turkey until I fucking gobbled.

No more.  I'm done this year.  And we still have massive amounts of it lurking there, calling for me.  I don't want it.  I'll eat anything but turkey.  

This morning, for breakfast, I had a turkey sandwich.  By the time I took the second bite, I couldn't take it.   I wanted to throw it across the river to some poor soul who would appreciate it.  Anything but force another bite of it done my throat.

I can't even look at chicken.  Chicken is too closely related to turkey.  It has wings and feathers, I don't want it.  I still have a batch of turkey stock to turn into gravy.  I can not bring myself to do it.  I opened the fridge, pulled out the container, peeled back the lid, and my stomach started packing its bags.

It throw the gall bladder and tastebuds in a black satchel, throw it over her shoulder and was heading some place out west to live.  Where there is no roast turkey lurking in the fridge, haunting you every time you want a cold drink.

I called in backup, the brain pleaded, the ovaries cried, the kidneys wept, all begging the stomach to stay.  Eventually the brain talked stomach into staying if I promised it that I was done with roast turkey for awhile.

She's still here, but she refused to unpack.  Not even smoked turkey (which she normally adores) is allowed for at least a couple of weeks.  The freezer packs of it are not welcome on the dinner table until stomach grants us permission.

We have signed a treaty, a truce of sorts: I've promised her steak and roast and porkchops and anything but poultry for the next few days.  She's promised to stay around and to quit producing the heartburn and nausea in exchange.  Stomach even begged for more McDonald's and she only does that when Mr. Alcohol has beat her down.  

And we haven't seen Ms Vodka or Mr Bourbon in months and months.  You know it's serious when a major organ revolts to that extent.  This is her second major revolt, April with Ms Vodka, now turkey.  

I'll coddle her for awhile, in hopes that she will befriend me again.  Until then, I'll be here, nursing a glass of water and looking up beef recipes.

Suzy Smith