It’s true — no one likes it when you brag about how easy it was to pull together a seven-course meal for 40, wearing heels and a darling outfit, all without breaking a sweat. Or staining your outfit.

This is a Universal Girlfriend Truth, and you must abide (but only if you want to have girlfriends, I guess). I had a long-ago friend who clearly hadn’t been clued in on that one, and I think nearly everyone agreed that she was just plain annoying.

But I would venture that it’s not just the loss of the friends you will alienate with your cockiness. You’re also likely to receive a king-sized smack in the head from the Universe.

Let me explain. After a monthlong bout of bronchitis and sinusitis, I was in no mood for a Turkey Day crowd again this year. So it was lucky we had only my father-in-law, a no-frills kind of guy, coming to our dinner table. Again and again, I crowed on the phone to my mother and sisters (and to anyone else who would listen): I’M not stressed out this year at ALL! No one I’M cooking for gives a RIP about my presentation! This is going to be a SNAP!

When will I ever learn?

I guess I should give myself credit for being somewhat on top of it this year. I did scribble a little timeline of tasks on a napkin the day of the feast. And I did bake two unusual pies the day before, all with a fever of 103 and joint aches that occasionally brought me to my knees. (Where’s my medal, dammit?)

Oh, and I washed my hands after EVERY nose blow (approximately 146 times) while cooking, so I wouldn’t spread my germs. Oh, and she’s sooo considerate, too!

So, OK. I guess I was feeling pretty cocky — after all, this planning-ahead business was no small feat, given my genetic predisposition toward the messy and impulsive.

But of course I did receive my king-sized smack upside the head, courtesy of the Universe. And deservedly so.

As I carefully dismantled the turkey after the meal — in preparation for the homemade turkey soup to come (Martha Stewart: watch your back, girl!) — I made a grisly discovery in the carcass before me.

It was the fully-roasted, plastic bag of giblets.

Ka-POW! (Ouch.)

Filed under: Fabulous Guest Bloggers, Working Mom Geniuses, humor for women