Skip the turkey.  It takes up room on the plate and only serves as a platform for the really good stuff, i.e., potatoes, stuffing and gravy.  Besides, it's really at its best in the sandwiches the day after.  (I realize this suggestion may be somewhat self-serving for us hostesses.)

Eme Kah:

This year's strategy was sponsored by Ambien. See, now that it's well-known that one of the side effects of Ambien is to go on food raids while under its influence, I am going to fill up on Ambien and thus, I'll be unconscious during the part where Aunt Lisa brings up how Grandma always favored Uncle Mitch and how she always saved the white meat for him that one time back in 67 when there was a turkey shortage (she's pushing 50 but she won't ever forget)). I will also miss the part where my father screams at Aunt Lisa that she's immature and has a sense of entitlement bc she ate the vanilla ice cream. And so on and so forth. Yet! I'll still be able to eat. So, I'll get to enjoy the good part of Thanksgiving (yummy food) sans the trauma. The rub is getting someone to write me a prescription. I guess that, worse comes to worst, I can always lie and say that I took Ambien and then just pretend sleepwalking through the feast. Maybe I'll videotape it and post it on youtube. Who knows?

Eric Feezell:

If your family incorporates the age-old tactic of separating tables by kids and adults, then you know almost every year some unlucky adult must take one for the team and sit with the little ones for lack of sufficient seating at the grown-up feast. My suggestion is: volunteer yourself to the kids' table. This will do four things: 1) Help you avoid horrid conversations with your insipid Uncle Melvin; 2) Please your mother, aunt, or whoever is hosting; 3) Allow you easier in-and-out capabilities and, therefore, a swifter return for seconds; and 4) Actually make you a little nostalgic (and surprised at how much fun you're having). Highly recommended.