Yes, I Made The Shells!

The holiday came. It spent a solid week doing so, rousing me out of a sound sleep several days in a row. At 3 or 4 am, mind you. You've got to give it credit, the holiday was clever and insidious.

Thanksgiving woke me in a variety of ways; I never saw it coming. One minute I'm dreaming about climbing a giant saxophone in Central Park, the next thing I know I'm upright in bed, babbling to the Dinnerman about whether or not to make soup, which stuffing recipe to follow, do I stuff my own shells or buy them pre-made, how many orange side dishes to cook, and will Kenny like it? (Yes, but what if he doesn't like it? What if he won't eat it? It's Thanksgiving! I must feed people too much food! What if there's not enough food?)

Mind you, we're talking about preparations for a dinner for 3 - The Dinnerman, Kenny, and me.

I confess, I was left alone in our bed with my madness at least once during my pre-dawn hysteria. The Dinnerman fled to quieter quarters in the small bedroom. I was abandoned and cold in high-threadcount cotton, a victim of my own devices.

A dinner for three. Only two of whom are not me. The Dinnerman and Kenny. In typical Steph fashion, I made the world end. And as usual, it was all well worth it.

The Dinnerman came home around 2:30, and we sat around drinking Maker's Mark on ice, nibbling on cheese and olives, listening to his eclectic/diverse/whacked-out iPod while the turkey roasted, filling the house with the aroma that we've grown to expect and thus find comforting on Thanksgiving - that of turkey roasting.

We had an arugula salad with shreds of romano, olive oil, lemon, salt and pepper. Then, we moved on to the stuffed shells with pork and sausage in the gravy. (Earlier in the day, the Dinnerman's mom asked him on the phone if I had bought the shells or made them...I, in the midst of a kitchen frenzy, and after explaining in detail to the Dinnerman how I made the shells, with visual aides and all, spouted out, "I made the fucking shells!" - he told her that I made the fucking shells...now I am elected to make the fucking Christmas shells)

Then Kenny came over, and we feasted on the typical turkey meal. Yum.
Too. Much. Food.

We digested on the couch while watching Vanilla Sky, one of our favorite movies of all time.

I wanna wake up!!!

Will I attempt this again? I will tell you in another life, when we are both cats.