The hardest part about Thanksgiving dinner at our house isn't the political debates or the burnt rolls.

It's trying to discreetly unbutton your pants under the table without anyone noticing.

Every Thanksgiving, my mom cooks enough food to feed a small army.

And every year, that army consists of six very enthusiastic, belt-loosening family members.

I've been thinking, why did the turkey go to the doctor?

It had a little fowl cough!

Why did the cranberry sauce go to the doctor?

It was feeling a little saucy and had a berry bad cough!