Steve In The Bread Pan, Pickin' Out Dough...

Through a chain of events far too convoluted to recount here, I went from having Thanksgiving dinner at my Mom's house, to having it at my girlfriend's house with her family, to having it at my house with just me & her (which is just fine by me). We did the shopping for the dinner on Sunday and while we were putting the groceries away, she told me that we had to name the turkey. "What?" I asked. "You have to name the turkey before you cook it," she said. "Isn't that a bit macabre?" I asked. She assured me that it wasn't - it was a long-standing tradition in her family, and I better shut up and stop teasing her if I knew what was good for me (she might have implied that last part). "Fine", I told her, "I christen this turkey "Steve"". She told me that wasn't a proper name for a turkey, and I informed her that it was my turkey, I bought it, and since naming a dead bird carcass was approaching the high side of crazy anyways, it's name was Steve. "Fine", she sighed. She emailed me today and reminded me to take Steve out of the freezer, so I put him in the fridge to thaw before I went to class. I told one of my co-workers that I had Steve chillin' in the fridge (pun intended) so we would be ready to put him in the oven on Thursday. I guess since at least three of my co-workers are named Steve, the odd looks I received are understandable. Ah well, my brain is fried from building four custom databases and three Novell servers in a week, so I'm looking forward to eating Steve with all the trimmings. Have a good Thanksgiving, everybody...