I am not a brave woman. Recently, I was home alone at night and heard several suspicious creaks. Ominous creaks. The sort of creaks that a serial killer might make as he sneaks inside a closet. My imagination was in rare form. When Nathan got home, I was in the car, shoeless and in my pajamas, ready to flee at the first sign of the serial killer.
But you know what is even scarier than things that go bump in the night? The Pre-Thanksgiving supermarket.
Over the next few days, it's not just that the supermarket gets crowded. It gets dangerous. Every year, 1 in 5 Americans die while shopping for their Thanksgiving groceries. (I have no proof for this statistic, but it sounds right). Emergency rooms across the country are overwhelmed by Thanksgiving victims. Last year, an entire family was buried alive by an avalanche of canned sweet potatoes. My neighbor suffered a concussion when he was hit in the head by a frozen butterball turkey. And once, I saw a shopper turn into a werewolf and actually tear off another customer's arm as they battled for the last bag of cranberries.
I can barely handle the creaks my house makes when I'm home alone at night. I simply cannot handle the grocery store in the days before Thanksgiving. That is why I finished buying the ingredients I need for my Thanksgiving cheesecake today. And that is why, if I forgot something, I'll be sending my husband back to the store. Like I said, I'm not a brave woman.