Thanksgiving Math

You ate “too much,” as if that’s a thing. 

You had 3 servings of mashed potatoes, and maybe 5 thousand ounces of gravy, but your plate could only hold 7 dishes at once, so you had to eat your dinner roll on Round 2. 

Your roll weighed the same as a feather, but then you used it to mop up all your gravy, so it weighed as much as a wet Tempurpedic mattress. Then you weighed as much as a wet Temperpedic mattress, plus whatever you weighed before, plus 8 Christmas-colored M&Ms, plus wine. PLUS! Now you have to pee. 

And frankly, you don’t give a fuck how much you weigh today.

Good thing Thanksgiving is an American holiday, because something about the metric system or whatever.  

There’s 11 people at dinner, 2 and a half pies for dessert, and 20 thousand bottles of wine. 

Your mother is drinking whiskey with 8 ice cubes. She’s part math teacher and part numbers nerd, and she wants to count how many ~clinks~ there are if we cheers and each person chimes everyone else’s glass. 

You read somewhere that you’d actually have to eat like 7 whole turkeys in order to pass out from tryptophan, but at that point, you’d be dead, and that would be why you appeared to be sleeping. Or something. Minus 12. 

You may have gained a pound, and you may have a food baby, but it’s definitely numerically illogical to blame any chubbiness on one meal. And it’s certainly boring. Boring times 10 thousand, take away 6. 

Plus, you’re fabulous. You’re fabulous and full. 

Whatever. YOU do the math.