Why, why, why? I have created a monster and now it must be killed. Or at least scaled back a notch or two. Or something.

This whole Thanksgiving thing has totally spiraled out of control. It started out with just family, then family and a few friends, and now, six years after the ‘tradition’ set foot in my back yard, folks are inviting themselves before I can even start planning the menu. What the hell is up with that? Are they just so confident of their place in my heart that they assume they’ll be re-invited? Or maybe it’s that the food is just that good and they cannot imagine going an entire year without my hot crab dip, stuffing, and green bean casserole?

While my darlin Vivi was here last weekend, I cried a bit on her shoulder about how it feels like Turkey Day has now become an obligation. An Obligation. I feckin hate obligations. It becomes Work then. Work is a nasty four-letter word. And while I usually like four-letter words, this one leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

And after we’d had a good ole chuckle about how we all know there’s no way I’d not do the stuff till you drop feast that I’m apparently so notorious for (and Vivi assured herself that these “See ya at Thanksgving” self-invites were probably just a bit of me over-stating how folks love my hospitality), one of Marc’s friends (who’d just gotten up from a table full of food and my hard work) said, “So when’s Thanksgiving? We’re invited, right?”

Arrggghhhhh!

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love cooking for a crowd. And I love even more watching that crowd dig in and purr over each bite. And when they get up to undo the button on their pants, man, it’s The Big O for me. A great big one!

But, dude, what’s so hard about letting ME put the invite out there?

Especially this year.

Because I’m not even sure how I’m going to pull this gig off.

See, Marc’s sister, the older one with kids—Scary Baby’s mom, has decided to baptize both her kids that weekend. And while I shan’t go into the politics about this—how they’re probably only doing this because we’ve done it—three times now, and how we always seem to upstage any of their productions—how dare we!, and how no matter what we do or say it’s just plain WRONG—I will grumble…A LOT.

My MIL has already let me know that this baptism takes precedence over any plans we had—family is family, even if they manage to step on each other’s toes. And who cares that Thanksgiving is planned way in advance—like years even, because Thanksgiving 2012? I can totally give you the date. And half the menu, even. And at least part of the guest list.

So I’m in a quandary. What to do? I DO NOT want to call all these folks up and change this to another weekend. I mean, these people work, and have to get time off ahead of time, especially those traveling. And it does seem rather rude to get every one up and kick them out of the house before 11 on Sunday morning. No one can digest that quickly. Besides, that’s when the overnighters usually wander back to the chalet in the woods to snack on leftovers and, most importantly, put things back in order—something I hate doing.

I so totally cannot get rid of the cleaning crew. I JUST CANNOT!

I do not know what to do. When I mentioned that I might send Marc and the kids to the service, then join them after things were taken care of here, I got the look of death—like how could I honestly consider NOT spending the ENTIRE DAY with Scary Baby and entourage! Easy: I’m not particularly fond of most of the people who will be there, in fact a lot of them give me the heebie-jeebies. And those that don’t? Oddly enough they’ll be at the Thanksgiving Day Feast the day before (doesn’t bode well for their shin-dig if some of us are still gavé-ed from the night before bwahahaha).

Oh, the other thing: We’re all sworn to secrecy. We cannot mention this to anyone because someone might get offended they weren’t invited. Which is totally why they handed out the invitations at MP3’s party—so the aunts and uncles who aren’t invited wouldn’t know.

Someone give these folks a brain.