Of all the memories held in store
my fondest is Christmas of '94,
when I first met the family soon to be
my in-laws. It was plain to see
for them the feast was a major event.
As our car pulled up I was met with the scent
of turkey and pastry and other delights
that wafted on breezes like floating kites.
I was nervous, of course, as I met each one
but soon I gave in to just having fun.
I suspect all of them were nervous as well
but I did my best to quickly dispel
anything that would stand in the way
of successfully making it through this day.
Aunt Sally, the hugger, was the first I met
and I'm sure it's a meeting she'll never forget.
As she held me close I whispered “Oh, my!
You certainly bake a good apple pie!”
The gasp in her voice was shock, not glee...
how had I known her specialty?
Mama Franklin was next, she'd baked the bird;
from the wee early hours she could be heard
pulling the turkey from the oven with haste
so she'd not miss a single pre-scheduled baste.
“I look forward to tasting the turkey.” I said.
She blushed so loud I could hear her turn red.
Each handshake or hug I politely endured
'til at last the last person was tactfully lured
into position of meeting the one
that soon would be married to their nephew (or son).
I seemed to have every relative shook
by knowing what each and every one cooked.
I'd not seen the table, spread out for the feast,
nor yet tasted the tidbits of pastry and beast.
Yet I knew... this amazed them, my boyfriend was pleased
that his family adored me. I'd won them with ease.
I'm sure each was prepared to pity my plight
'til they learned I could “see” them without my sight.
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