A Memorable Turkey Day

My favorite person in the world was my Aunt Haven. She lived one door down from us my entire life in Atlanta. We held Christmas dinner every year and she took on Thanksgiving. We had all of the Southern turkey day fare in her Japanese-styled house. It was a one-floor Pagoda-type home with a contemporary twist. It was almost all glass, with a red carved dragon on the top of the roof, and a Chinese Chippendale railing around the entire house. The dining room had floor-to-ceiling glass doors that let you see the separate garage, driveway, and the winding road that brought you into our subdivision. My father was the architect and builder of this house. It was my favorite of all the ones he built. I lived there as much as I did in my own home.

Haven’s Aunt Laura lived with her in the Master bedroom and bath. She was a well-known Atlanta realtor who dined with the elite during the holidays. Laura had been a hat designer for Regenstein’s, a fashionable high-end lady’s store downtown. She always dressed in black or white or a combination of both. She had platinum blonde hair pulled severely into a tight bun at the back of her head, bob earrings, bright red lipstick, and heavy makeup. She was extremely critical of all of us. Whenever she saw you, she would comment on what you were wearing, your manners, what you were watching on TV, what you were eating, how much you weighed, and so on. But she loved my father, Haven’s younger brother, whom she found was very fashionable.

One Thanksgiving, we were all sitting at the dining table getting ready to say grace when she came in abruptly and addressed my father for his opinion. “Jack, which should I wear with my new black suit and high heels, the large pearls or the black jet beads?” We all looked at her and then turned our attention to Dad waiting for his response. He calmly thought for a minute. Then stated, “I would wear the big pearls.” With that said, the beads landed on the sideboard along with her purse. Big pearls anchored around her neck, grabbing her purse, she headed out the door as she wished us a happy Thanksgiving and reminded us of the elite people she would be doing with that day. We all watched her leave the house, go down the steps to the garage, get in her car, and head up the driveway. Evidently, while putting on that pancake makeup and ruby red lipstick, she had gotten up from her vanity, lit a cigarette, smoked a few puffs, put it out in the ashtray, picked up the two necklaces along with her purse, and came out to see us to get my father’s opinion on her jewelry selection.

The problem was she had painted her big brown eyebrow over her left eye. With the distraction of needing that cigarette, she had forgotten to go back and paint the right one. We all sat in our seats. None of us said a word or made a noise until she drove out of sight.

It was the sweetest revenge and one of our happiest Thanksgiving!