On Thanksgiving we join together with family and friends and wait for the turkey to gestate. That is what we do. “When will the turkey be done gestating?” you ask your aunt. She sighs; the turkey will be gestating for another two hours, at least.
“I love turkey, but hate how long it must gestate,” your cousin says as he grabs a handful of Chex Mix, taking an eager glance toward the oven. He returns to watch football in the next room. Your uncle greets him as he enters, a familiar question on his lips: “Has the turkey gestated yet?”
Incidentally, the back of Donald Trump’s head looks like a fully gestated chicken (or turkey). I had this thought more than a year ago and unsuccessfully tried to pitch it as a blog. It was rejected!
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