We all know about the five stages of grief, but did you know there are five stages of Thanksgiving? No? Well, sit down and unbutton your pants. It’ll be a bumpy ride along the lumpy gravy train to Food Coma Town. All aboard!
Stage one begins at the first sight of a fallen leaf. This glorious sight means pants weather. Fat pants weather. Fat pants weather means Thanksgiving is a-coming. With Preparing-for-Thanksgiving-Fat-Pants, comes the ceasing of any and all grooming below the groin area. The growing hair provides warmth as the nights grow colder. Also growing, is the instinctual need to add a layer of blubber to the body for insulation. Diets begin to fizzle out; PSLs begin to replace protein smoothies; and an anticipation for what’s to come makes even the most sensible of ladies strike up a pumpkin baking frenzy before September is even said and done.
As the days get shorter and the big day gets closer, the more competitive of eaters begin training their stomachs for the massive meal with marathon eating that includes, but is not limited to: the better part of large cheese pizzas, pints of Cherry Garcia, and entire bags of wasabi kettle chips.
Dreams are feverish, wanting, longing.
Stage two occurs during the day in question. The anticipation of mounds of gravy soaked carbohydrates and creamy cocktails to wash it all down has finally come to fruition. Despite a meals-worth of gherkins, deviled eggs, and shrimp dip, plates are piled high and inhaled with wild abandon. Oh, the rapture. The exhaltation. The delirium.
Food is consumed at an alarming rate, and fabric is pushed to max capacity.
Somewhere between buttering a fifth dinner roll and the unbuttoning, unzipping, and unraveling of anything constricting, a realization that “filthy pig” doesn’t even come close begins to weigh on the psyche. For only a split second, “Maybe I should stop?” crosses the mind, but someone says “pumpkin cheesecake”, and any and all semblance of humanity is lost amidst belches tasting of turkey giblets.
Stage four generally comes during the requisite food-induced coma directly following the unadulterated eating frenzy that went down like something normally reserved for the animal channel. After realizing that a five gallon bowl of jello salad has been demolished by only one person, in a span of four hours, a deep depression is expected.
The depression stage is especially bad if pant buttons are blown off due to the sheer force of an expanding gut, or expensive Spanx can’t even, so they jump ship.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with me? You promised yourself you wouldn’t eat six potatoes worth of mashed potatoes again!” And, “Did I even enjoy that half a pie I inhaled?” is common self-talk.
Usually, one must ride out this disastrous depressive stage at home, on the couch, with plenty of Maalox, hobo hair, and possibly Depends.
The last stage of Thanksgiving is amnesia, as anyone who survives Thanksgiving forgets the killer heartburn, diarrhea rash, and shame in less than a year’s time.
Unlike the five stages of grief, the five stages of Thanksgiving are cyclical and incurable.
Some scientists and theorists believe that there is something about the falling of leaves, the arrival of layered clothing weather and the ripening of squash that sparks something animalistic, ugly, and shocking.
The only way to be temporarily relieved of the pressures of Thanksgiving and too-tight fat pants is to participate. One must accept that eating your weight in stuffing is just going to happen. It also helps to remember that after the holiday season, you still have a solid five months to procrastinate starting your 20th attempt at a “Summer Body Diet”.
Enjoy drenching your plate in gravy. Take pleasure in numbing your fat pain receptors with booze. Be mindful of how delicious pumpkin pie feels sliding down your gizzard. Enjoy the glorious gluttony!
Happy Thanksgiving from Fatty Cake!