So, the most important point first:

The pecan pie worked! It turned out okay!

--which is actually an enormous shock. Not only did I wimp out and buy a pre-made crust (yeah, yeah, very bad, but I figured I had enough stress on my hands without making my own crust for my first-ever pie), but the bag of pecans was smaller than the recipe called for, we couldn't decide what to substitute for Karo syrup (I ended up pouring in half-maple syrup from Michigan and half-Golden syrup), and I accidentally used self-raising flour instead of the normal stuff.

Gaah.

By six o'clock, when the pie emerged from the oven smelling great but looking massively, ridiculously inflated, I was ready to lock the door, turn off the lights, hide in the bedroom, and pretend that nobody was home when the guests came. My only worry was that Nika might give the game away by barking when the doorbell rang.

Luckily, Patrick is very good about keeping me sane and laughing when things like this go through my brain. We kept the lights on and finished making dinner. The pie deflated. Friends came over. Nika misbehaved. She calmed down. The dinner was really good. The wine was nice. The company was excellent. And guess what? Even the pecan pie tasted awfully good. I ate two slices, drizzled with English double cream.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. There is an awful lot to be thankful for, after all.