This is how the turkey looked yesterday morning:

I unwrapped the plastic and then remembered my bird phobia.  My raw meat juice paranoia kicked in soon after that.

I decided to molest the turkey in the sink so the juices wouldn’t contaminate anything.

Then this happened:

“Butterball, how can I help you?”

“Hi.  Your directions say that there are two cavities with packages of giblets in each. I can only find one package are there really two?”

“Yes ma’am.  There’s one in each cavity.”

I didn’t wash the turkey with soap. The suds are from my constant hand washing.

Five minutes of attacking the cavities of the turkey later:

“Butterball, how can I help you?”

“HI I JUST CALLED YOU AND I CAN’T FIND THE OTHER BAG IN THE CAVITY AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!  I DON’T WANT MY FAMILY TO EAT MELTED PLASTIC!”

“Ma’am, there’s only one bag and you also have to remove the neck.  Just so you know, if you accidentally left the bag in, it would still be safe to eat.”

I found relief after this phone conversation but then I had to remove the neck.  Oh, holy hell.

Here’s the turkey.

Did you notice that it looks like it has a face?

The hand is in front of the eye because this bird knows it is as leathery as my son’s baseball mitt.

It was SO DRY.

My husband is a smart man.  He never criticizes my cooking so I will continue to feed him.  One day, someone will eat a turkey I’ve prepared and they’ll say “This is the best turkey prepared by a vegetarian who has never eaten turkey before.”  When that day comes, I’d like that very quote printed on custom-made rubber gloves for meat handling.

Now, please go here.  Linda wrote a perfect post about not getting our panties in a bunch about cooking a turkey.