Wear What's Fit For The Occasion

Already the turkey wars have started. Someone in the family, I don't know which someone, got her feathers ruffled. And once one set of feathers is ruffled, everyone's feathers seem to follow. I hope the ruffling calms as this week's Thanksgiving hinges on getting along like pilgrims and Indians. Though I'm guessing the first Thanksgiving feast got a bit dicey. The pilgrims wore itchy, winter, woolen underwear. Hard to imagine sitting through a meal without scratching. While the Indians, perched on a rough hewn bench, picked up wicked splinters from not wearing enough underwear. And a celebratory feast certainly goes better with the right amount of underwear worn--undies not too tight, but sturdy enough not to pop from the expansion of the well-fed. Of course, no one in our family will show up near naked, although that must be what the pilgrims thought the Indians were doing. In fact, the pilgrims probably wasted a lot of time at the table trying not to stare. While the Indians had to sit on their hands to keep from pointing at those scratching, odd-duck foreigners--which led to more splinters for the Indians and additional worries among the pilgrims about where the Indian hands had been. Somehow, through it all, these two very different groups shared a meal, avoided feather-ruffling and walked away from the table as friends, at least for a while. I have high hopes that our Thursday feast will be equally successful. I'm telling everyone now: Wear underwear fit for the occasion.  That's my start to planning the perfect meal.