You Always Remember Your First Time

Jenny Thompson submits the following Hellish Thanksgiving tale, which took place in Laurel, Maryland in the 1980s. In the true Hellish Holidays tradition, it ends in tears.

My now ex-husband and I had just moved into a two-bedroom apartment together. It was the first Thanksgiving I was ever hosting and we were using it as an opportunity for our families to meet. To add to the pressure, while the apartment was a nice size for two people, it was pretty tight for a dinner for 14.

My anxiety level was off the charts. Not only was I making my first turkey ever and hosting my first "dinner party" but my ex is black, I'm Jewish and my father's wife at the time was South African…so quite a melting pot of people coming together.

The day started off badly when I dropped the turkey - twice. I called my mother in a panic. She told me to wash off the cat hair and use it anyway.

From there, things were going okay. The turkey got cooked and everyone got along fine. All was good - until I cleared the table.

I loaded the dishwasher, started to run the first load while we were having dessert, and the garbage disposal exploded all over the kitchen, spewing turkey, dressing, cranberries and everything else you can imagine all over the counters and the floor. Then water started pouring out from the dishwasher and the kitchen was officially flooded and it was heading into the dining room.

I called maintenance, again in a panic. They said it wasn't an emergency so they wouldn't come until the next day or Monday. I asked my husband to tell everyone to leave so we could figure out what to do. Then I went into the bedroom and cried.