Favorite Thanksgiving story

It was my family’s turn to host Thanksgiving, but, because we don’t have a restroom on our first floor, we were “hosting” at my grandfather’s house.  Point being, all the cooking was done at my house and then transported a couple of blocks to my grandfather’s house.  My parents went over half an hour before the rest of the family was supposed to arrive, and my brother and I were supposed to follow at the appointed hour with the three casseroles that were warming in the oven.  My parents called right before we left to ask if we would bring the extra cranberry from the refrigerator.

I helped my brother get the casseroles and then got in the car and put the bowl from the refrigerator on my lap.  We were starting to pull out of the driver when I got a look at it.  The bowl definitely contained something cranberry-colored … but it resembled a cranberry-colored tennis ball.

“What the hell is this?”  I asked him. 
He gave me a puzzled look.  “It’s a cranberry.” 
“Brother,” I told him.  “That is not a cranberry.  I think … I think it’s a beet.” 
He looked at it.  “Are you sure?  That’s not a cranberry?”
“No, this is definitely not a cranberry.  I think it’s a root vegetable.  And … I think it’s a beet.”
“Why do we have a beet in the refrigerator?”
“Good question.  But … it is definitely not a cranberry.”

He returned, dubious, to the house.  He did find a matching bowl that had cranberries in it, at which point he believed me that the original bowl did not have cranberries in it.

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