The turkey is huge, so huge that it looks like a small beheaded toddler in the sink. When I walked in I screamed “AAAAH! DAD, THE MOMS KILLED A BABY!” It’s got this little flap of wrinkled skin where its head used to be. “Ew, Moms,” I whispered, plucking (ha) at her sleeve, “it’s got little bony nubbins where its feets were.”
“I know,” she said. “I had to pull out the neck.”
“You had to–eeeeaugh! Is that what you just gave me to throw away wrapped in that bag which at the time I thought how weird that she wrapped something so tightly in this bag when she’s only going to throw it away and why can’t she wait until I’ve taken out the trash and have returned with a fresh new bag? It was the neck, wasn’t it!”
“Yeah,” the Moms said.
I touched turkey neck, turkey neck, I touched turkey neck…
The window is open, and I thought maybe it would make the neck flap shift a little in a creepy way but it turns out to be too thick and wrinkled to move and that is actually more creepy.
The baby is almost too big for the pan. Time to push things up its bottom.