Thanksgiving – Part 1

In a little less than five hours, Chandler Bing will inadvertently blurt out that he loves Monica Geller, irrevocably changing their lives forever. He does not know any of that right now. Even if he took the time to think about every possible outcome from today's meal, he would never be able to guess what will eventually happen tonight. In fact, all Chandler can think about is his hair.

He has spent more time than he would care to admit getting himself ready for today's Thanksgiving dinner over at Monica and Rachel's. He has tried on several different shirts, took time to stare into the mirror, analyzing every perceived imperfection in his complexion, wondering how the light in the girl's apartment would make his face look. He laments the fact that he didn't shave yesterday, which would have helped him avoid displaying how his skin reacted to the razor this morning. He goes back and forth on whether he smells appropriately and finds himself reapplying deodorant and sniffing at himself awkwardly. All of these things have been preying on his insecurities; but, the worst culprit for all his consternations has been his hair.

On a normal day, he would shower, put some gel in his hair, brush it around a little and let it dry. Today, though, he can't stop adjusting it. He began with using just a little bit of gel, pushing it through his hair and trying to create some lift, but as he began to scrutinize how it looked, finding stray hairs that were out of place, he began adding more and more gel until his hair stood up as rigid spikes, poking in different directions, and as it dried and hardened, he found he could not get it back down.

He can't explain why he feels so self-conscious about his appearance and why it is important to him to look good today. He has been spending Thanksgiving with his friends over at apartment 20 for a few years now, and it has never been a source of high anxiety. If anything, it has added comfort to a holiday that normally bears the imprint of his dysfunctional childhood.

He has been stalling making a decision for a few minutes, pacing about his bedroom. He thought about taking another shower, washing the gel out of his hair and starting over, but it is almost four and he knows better than to show up late for a Monica Geller gathering. No, he knew he was going to need help from Ross or Joey to fix this, which meant he was probably going to endure some abuse about how he looks.

Chandler finally finds the resolve to face his roommates; he opens his bedroom door and makes his way into the living room, gel in hand. He looks around and sees Joey sitting in his chair and he can hear Ross finishing up in the bathroom. "Psst! Joey! Hey!" Joey, sitting in his chair, still watching the television, nods his head. "Joe! I need some help."

"What can I do for you buddy?" Joe spins around, finally looking at Chandler. "Gaahhh! What did you do to your hair?"

"I don't know!" Chandler, now sounding panicked and desperate, attempts to explain. "I guess I just kept going and going and now its all," he waves his hands frantically around his head, "this! I don't know what to do. You're an actor, you have to know something about hair styling, right?"

Joe gets up from his chair and points at Chandler's head. "Well I know never to do that!"

Chandler throws his arms up in desperation. "C'mon. It's the first Thanksgiving that me and Mon…" his voice trails off and he realizes why he has been so nervous and critical of his appearance. Even though all of his friends are going to be there, and he won't get to have any time alone with Monica, it is going to be their first Thanksgiving together as a couple. He had not allowed himself to consider what that meant to him or what it might mean for her, causing that anxiety to manifest itself as self-conscious doubt.

Joe puts his fingers in his ears. "Don't say it. I don't want to know anything more than I already know about you two. Its so hard just keeping it a secret. You know how I crack under pressure! Remember that time Phoebe got me to admit I didn't like mayonnaise?"

Chandler slowly lowers his hands to adopt a calmer tone. "Okay. I'm not going to say anything. I just don't want to look like this. You have to help me."

Joey takes his fingers out of his ears and approaches Chandler, he narrows his eyes and walks around his roommate, darting his head back-and-forth as if trying to unlock some ancient riddle. "Okay, let's see what we're working with." He gently bounces a finger on one of Chandlers spikes. "Ow! How does hair get so sharp? We are never getting all of that out dude."

Chandler's eyes bulge and he becomes agitated again. "You think?" he offers, sarcastically.

Joey starts to rub his chin contemplatively, and then, his eyes widen with excitement, "I got it! Give me some hair gel. I'll just spike up some of my hair and then it'll just look like two guys who did their hair together."

Chandler holds his hands out in disbelief, "And that's better? How?"

"Look, Spike, do you want me to help or not?" Joey folds his arms defiantly, waiting for Chandler to relent. He looks at Joey and reluctantly hands him the tube of hair gel. Joey squeezes some out into his hand and starts to spike up the front of his own hair.

Chandler becomes agitated again. "Hey, that doesn't look like mine! Your hair looks better now!"

Joey, smoothing out his hair gives Chandler a cunning smile. "That's good. I don't want to look like you. You look terrible."

"Your hair looks too good now. You have to do it like this." Chandler reaches his hands over and starts to run them through Joey's hair. Pulling it up in a random pattern.

"Hey, that's not fair. If you're gonna do that to mine, well, then you have to do yours like this." Joey, reaches over and starts to pull on Chandler's hair. The two men stand in the living room manipulating the other's hair for several minutes. Locked in a strange form of combative hair styling.

Just then, the bathroom door opens and Ross comes out. Joey and Chandler freeze their motions, hands still deep into each other's scalp as they look up at him, their eyes wide. "Hey guys, what's, uh, what's going on?"

Joey looks over at Chandler and then back to Ross. "You know, just doing our hair. That's what good roommates do."

Ross looks at the both of them in stunned silence for a few seconds and then his expression turns to one of wholesome naivete. "Is that hair gel? Well, I want some too." Ross grabs at the tube of gel, squeezes some out and then begins to massage it into Chandler's hair.

Chandler looks at him incredulously, "What are you doing?"

Ross, looking confused, takes his hands out of Chandler's hair. "What, isn't this how you guys are doing it? I thought we were helping style each other's hair. You know, being good roommates."

Joey turns to Ross, "we are big guy. Here, let me help you out." and he takes his hands from Chandler's hair and begins to massage gel into Ross'.

Chandler, still exasperated, eyes bulging as his voice goes to a higher octave, "Why did you start doing my hair?"

Ross looks both men up and down. "Well, Joey's hair looks good. You look like you could use the help." Ross resumes styling Chandler's hair. "This actually feels kind of nice. Well, once I got past these pointy spots. Hey, maybe this could be our thing while I'm living here. We're like gel brothers. Ooo. We could call ourselves 'Ross and the Gel-lers', it would be so cool."

"Could we call ourselves three men who never talk about this again?" Chandler deadpans. "That would be kind of cool too."

Just then, the apartment door swings open haphazardly as Rachel walks in carrying two pies. "Hey guys Mon said you'd have the oven preheated for these pies. Are you guys ready to come over yet?" Rachel stops dead in her tracks and looks at the three of them. "What? I? What? What are you guys doing?"

Chandler and Joey freeze up again, stopping all motion. Both sharing looks of embarrassment, standing like statues connected by their hands and heads. Ross, without looking over at Rachel or stopping his hands from primping up Chandler's hair, simply offers, in an upbeat tone, "They can go right in the oven. We should be done in a few minutes."

Rachel, gently places the pies onto the counter top, looks back at the boys incredulously one more time, throws her hands up, and walks out of the apartment.