Thanksgiviiiinzzzz

Thanksgiving Day, 2010 
Fresh powder means getting an early start on the day. By the time I showered and left apartment #8, the boys (and girl) of "the Ocho" had already been up on the mountain for a couple hours. I had an interview with the head of Guest Services to volunteer as the resort's mascot. Even though I'd landed a job that earned me a ski pass, I wanted to follow through on the interview as a show of good faith. When I explained the situation to the jolly, quoth the secretary, "Australian Matt", he looked at me like I was crazy and sent me out the door.
Better to be seen as crazy, than lazy.
I got back to the apartment around noon. The boys (and girl) had planned to be back by then to deal with the 18lb. turkey defrosting in the sink. At 12:30, I got a call: They had come in from the cold (20º in the sun) and started drinking at the Avalanche. They would be back in an hour. Yeah right. I settled into an ancient Thanksgiving tradition of mine, and awaited their "shit-hammered" return.
At 2:30, they stumbled upstairs and collapsed in front of their totem— that ever-erect polyurethane dispensary of their wacky-tobaccy. I was prepared for the worst, but over the course of the next seven hours we would miraculously assemble an array of dishes that, heaped high on our plates, fulfilled the highest standard (did I mention it was a miracle?) for a Thanksgiving feast.
The turkey was moist and perfectly cooked. The mashed potatoes were barely able to contain the fresh gravy made from the turkey juice, the green bean casserole complemented the stuffing in both aesthetic and pallet, and more pumpkin pie and ice cream than we could master taunted us from the table as we rolled onto the couches.
For the first time since I can remember, I actually fell into a food coma. Never underestimate the power of the muchies.