How many of you almost froze your fingers off trying to get the neck and /or giblets out of the dang Christmas turkey? Well, my bird was as thawed as thawed could be. Except for inside, where the stuff was wrapped, in a plain white wrapper, which wouldn’t budge. After thirty minutes of spraying hot water into the cavity, much yanking, a few curse words, and one screwdriver, (non-liquid) I triumphantly jerked the stuff out of the turkey, whom by this time, I’d begun to feel sorry for. As I pulled it’s neck and body organs out from under it’s own ribs, I couldn’t help but think; this bird had been alive, hopefully, not so long ago, and what a sorry way to end it’s life. Undignified, to say the least. (As if I ever say the least!) Then I got to wondering—why can we send a man to the moon, yet, women still have to wrestle with frozen innards on holidays? Do women own any turkey farms? Cause if they did, I believe they’d package the stuff on the outside of the bird, don’t you? I aim to find out! Meanwhile, I’d like you to write to Butterball, and ask them to consider our plight. Ask, how much could it cost, to tuck the package under the outside wrap? We need to solve this problem before next Thanksgiving. I never want to wrestle with a dead, half-frozen turkey long enough to feel sorry for it again!