Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, possibly minor ones for other episodes

A/N: Thanks so much to all those reading and especially to those who submitted the great feedback. Chapter 4 is on the way!

Chapter 3: Pardon the Pigs

I spend the next twenty minutes attending worship services at the altar of the porcelain gods. Between prayers, I identify the mysterious noise from downstairs as my mother, yodeling the cats to the basement for their breakfast. Apparently the cats cannot be trusted to eat when they are hungry and are instead forced to respond to a call that can only be described as a cross between a seagull and a fire alarm. The good news is that the cats will leave me in peace for the foreseeable future. The bad news is that a cat yodel is not good on a hangover.

By the time I am able to straighten up, the back door has slammed in indication that my parents have departed for their morning walk. Ever since I can remember, they've left the house before dawn for an hour-long stroll through the neighborhood. Suffice it to say that the pre-dawn ambition is not genetic, at least not without a pot of coffee and a national emergency.

Pausing at the sink to rinse my mouth and splash some water on my face, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I've now been wearing the same suit and the same makeup for 25 hours. My mascara has taken the place of my blusher, which in turn seems to have migrated to my shirt collar. The ponytail is long gone and I have a vague, dreamlike recollection of a cat making off with a hair tie. The layer of fur on my jacket seems to support this theory. I don't remember too much about last night, but I'm relatively sure unbuttoning clothes was a little beyond my reach. And, oh, dear God, my head hurts.

I thank heaven for small blessings after finding aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Mom and Dad will be gone for a while, which is just as well. Undoubtedly, my mother and I are due for a long talk, covering such topics as Why the hell is his placemat on the table? When the hell did he and Suzanne start dating? Are they even dating? and, most importantly, Why did no one tell me about any of this! Looks like that conversation will have to wait until after I've cleaned myself up some. Mom is already convinced my job is killing me. Looking at myself right now, I would be inclined to agree.

In a haze of familial guilt, I have somehow agreed to do something with the turkey this morning while Mom walks. Apparently timing is important for these things and we're eating at noon. I tiptoe down the stairs more for the benefit of my aching head and rolling stomach than for the prevention of sound. The only other person in the house right now is my little sister, Terri, and she could sleep through one of Toby's rants. I pass through the kitchen, but I can't stop there. I've got more important things on my mind. I've got a mission.

Maybe it was a mistake. I was very, very drunk last night. I was very, very tired last night. I had just seen Eric at the store and my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I didn't really see his place card. I've been stressed out lately, and…and it's still there. The ivory card reads "Eric" in perfect swirls. The blue stethoscope remains the most incriminating piece of evidence.

Look who's coming to dinner.

All hopes of an alcohol-induced nightmare vanish. Passing back through the kitchen, I pick up my mother's instructions for the turkey. My head is swirling, as is my stomach and between the whole Freeride revelation and the raw turkey, I'm soon attending a brief prayer service at the downstairs branch of my previous temple of worship. Nothing like freedom of religion.

Twenty minutes and another two aspirin later, I have dealt with the turkey, left my mother a note about some bad seafood, and crawled back into bed. I pass out again and pray it was all a dream.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Noise.

There's noise coming from somewhere in this room.

Phone. That would be my phone. Great.

I throw a glance at the clock as I peel back the covers. 7:48. I've been asleep for a grand total of 24 minutes. Gee, no wonder I feel so rested.

In my attempt to get out of bed andavoid the cat on the floor, I manage to misjudge the distance from the bed to the ground and land sprawled in the middle of the room.

"Damn!" I add several bruises to my already-charming 26 hour ensemble. The cat runs out of the room as I reach frantically for my purse. After several moments of clawing through its holdings, I turn it upside down in frustration. Its contents skid in varying directions across the hardwood floor. The phone, being the item most needed, slides farthest from my grasp, under the bed. I make a mental note to join CJ at yoga as Icontort wildly around and snatch up the phone…just as it stops ringing.

"Damn!"

"Donna? Is everything alright up there?" Mom's home. She and I need to have a little talk. I was just hoping we could have it after I was showered and when I was a little more…calm.

"I'm fine! I just...fell out of bed. I'll be down in a minute." As I get to my feet, the phone starts to ring once again. I take a look at the caller ID. Josh.

"Hello."

"Donnatella! How are things in the land of cheese and trees?"

"What do you need Josh?" I'm really not in the mood for this right now. I have an agenda to pursue. I have people to talk to. I need explanations. I need a plan. I need a shower.

"Look, I promise this will just take a second. I just need you to find a Midwestern congressman who hates pigs."

Let's recap the last few hours, shall we? I left on what was supposed to be a two day vacation with my family. I am interrogated regarding my health, my dates, and my plans for children. I run into my ex-boyfriend who, and this is my favorite part, is apparently dating/married to/having children with my cousin. I get drunk, fall out of bed, probably ruin a turkey, and it is now only 7:50am. All this, and Josh calls me to ask about…pigs?

"Huh?"

"It would appear that we may have upset the Pork Producer's Association."

"How?"

"By pardoning the turkey." I must be missing something here.

"Josh, you're going to have to explain this a little…more." I could really use a drink of water. Or a completely new liver. Whichever is easiest.

"Well, when we…Donna?…Are you slurring your speech?"

"The turkey, Josh. The pigs." Four aspirin later and my head still hurts.

He sighs. "The Pork Producer's Association recently conducted a survey showing that more Americans are including ham as a part of their Thanksgiving dinners. I'm a mashed potato man myself, especially when they have the-"

"Josh!"

"Right. Anyway, they feel that the president pardoning a turkey and not a pig is biased and, in their words, 'unfairly prejudicial toward an animal Americans know and love year round, not just on holidays.'"

"They want you to pardon a pig?"

"Actually, they want the president to pardon a pig, but, yes. Look, I know this is your vacation and I'm sorry to do this to you now, but CJ's with her dad and we need to rein this thing in quick."

"What's the rush? We don't have to pardon anything until next year!"

"It seems that the pork people, in an effort to draw national exposure to the plight of the pig, have chosen Thanksgiving Day as a time to showcase their cause on a rather large and potentially embarrassing scale."

"How embarrassing?"

"They're parading a two hundred and fifty pound sow named Bessie up Pennsylvania Avenue as we speak."

How ironic. A pig will be joining both Josh and myself for dinner.

"And you need a Midwestern congressman who hates pigs because…"

"We need someone from a pork-producing state to issue a statement declaring the turkey as the official symbolic food of Thanksgiving. Once we have that, we can work with the pig people about Christmas."

It is at this point that I decide asking any further questions would be futile.

"Congressman Grant. There's a hog lot less than one mile from his family home. On warm windy days I would imagine the smell is quite lovely. Plus, he's a vegetarian." I really have no idea why I keep facts like that in my head.

"Fantastic! Listen, Donna? I really am sorry to keep bothering you. I know you want to see your family. I really do apologize."

There's a difference between Josh in full-on-sarcastic-get-things-done mode and Josh in seriously-sweet-if-misguided mode. This is definitely the latter.

With a small sigh, I relent. "It's alright, Josh. It's actually nice to feel needed sometimes." And it is, really. My job is one thing I'm good at even when everything else seems to be falling apart.

"You're always needed, Donna. You're invaluable. I hope…I hope you know that."

I stand there in the silence of my old bedroom for a moment, allowing a small smile to creep across my lips.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Donna."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Josh."

Putting the phone down, I take a deep breath. I'm oddly calmer than I have been in quite some time, at least since I walked out of the grocery store last night. Giving the phone one last smile, I turn toward the door.

From pigs on parade to pig placematsin my living room, I need to find my mother.

Forget the shower. I need answers. I head downstairs already formulating a verbal barrage. Unfortunately, I never get the chance to use it.

I come to a dead stop at the bottom of the stairs.

Dr. Freeride is sitting at my kitchen table.

I've been wearing the same clothes for 27 hours. My hair is undone. Mascara is on my cheeks. I've thrown up twice. My ex-boyfriend is in my house. He's drinking the milk I bought.

I can handle congressmen, governors, kings, and ambassadors. I can handle Toby when he's mad and Josh when he's drunk.

I cannot handle this.

I bolt back upstairs.

Round three with the porcelain gods soon begins.