Member-only story
FIGHT
Thanksgiving Fight For The Turkey Leg
A memoir
Everyone wants to be king.
It’s Thanksgiving, and 13 bodies are crammed around a table meant for 8, stuffing its circumference tighter than whatever the hell’s crammed into that turkey.
Bellies bulge, chairs groan, and arms cross as the golden-brown turkey — steam still pouring off its breast — lands smack dab in the middle of the table, like a fishing lure to a lake full of bass.
And that’s when the standoff begins.
The room goes quiet, but the tension couldn’t be louder. Everyone knows the rule: Whoever gets the turkey leg is king. It’s not written down anywhere, but it’s as old as Grandma and twice as sacred. And over the next five minutes, a new king will be crowned.
Right after grace, your Lannister-like uncle makes his move. He’s big, hairy, and so shameless it’s almost admirable. His knuckles, coated in a matted layer of cranberry sauce and fur, creep across the table like a midnight robber.
Then…
SMACK.
Grandma’s hand comes down with the force of Thor’s hammer, stopping him cold. “We need to feed the kids first,” she declares. Her voice is calm, but the look in her eyes says she’s ready to take on anyone who disagrees.
