Hosting Thanksgiving in our new home was supposed to be my moment. I’d spent days perfecting every detail—from the cinnamon-scented air to the magazine-worthy pie crust. Even my picky Aunt Claire gave a rare nod of approval. But then Gloria, my mother-in-law and lifelong saboteur, arrived unannounced with a second turkey. She breezed past me like she owned the place, claiming it was “just in case mine failed.” Her passive-aggressive charm was in full force, and I knew something was coming. I just didn’t expect it to be a roast with my face on it.
Dinner went surprisingly well—until Gloria stood up, clinked her glass, and unveiled her masterpiece. There it was: a perfectly roasted turkey with a laminated photo of my face pinned to the breast. “Since Stephanie’s been such a turkey this year!” she crowed. The room gasped. Aunt Claire choked on her wine. I sat frozen, humiliated in my own home. But instead of crumbling, I smiled sweetly, snapped a photo, and said, “Everyone’s going to want to see this.” Gloria’s smirk faltered. She had no idea I was about to turn her stunt into a community-wide spectacle.
That night, I created a Facebook event: “Gloria’s Annual Turkey Roast.” I tagged her friends, uploaded the photo, and captioned it: “Book your custom ‘turkey selfie’ now for Christmas!” Comments poured in—some amused, some horrified. Her church group prayed for her creative journey. Someone asked for a turkey with their ex-husband’s face. By morning, Gloria was infamous. She stormed to my door, livid. “People think I’m insane!” she screamed. I just smiled. “Actions have consequences.” Even Mark, my husband, backed me up. Gloria had finally met her match.
In the weeks that followed, Gloria became “the turkey lady.” Her antics cooled, her reputation forever roasted. Thanksgiving became legendary in our town—not for the food, but for the drama. And me? I learned that sometimes, the best revenge isn’t loud or cruel. It’s clever, public, and served with a side of cranberry sauce. Gloria may have tried to humiliate me, but I got the last laugh—and the final word.
