Kept hidden inside the refrigerator under aluminum foil and a dish towel, no one knew what we were planning to serve for Thanksgiving dessert in 2009. My brothers and I had baked with our babysitter, Judi, during Thanksgiving break while our parents were at work. So it came to my parents’ surprise when 8-year-old me ran to the fridge with my brothers and pulled out a litter box after dinner.

We had filled the litter box, cleanly purchased at a local pet shop, with homemade cake that was crumbled to resemble real cat litter. It was garnished with broken up Golden Oreos, topped off with Tootsie Rolls twisted into particularly revolting shapes and completed with a real (unused) litter scooper to serve it all.

My parents tried not to laugh as they apologized to my aunt and uncle.

Quickly, the Thanksgiving surprise became a Smith family tradition and was notoriously known as “The Disgusting Dessert” among our family and close friends. Our tradition was fascinating to others, and in 2012 some of our neighbors wanted to join in.

  I wasn’t too psyched about everyone else participating in our standing tradition. I thought it was fun to keep it in our family, just an “us” thing. We could share laughs that no one else understood — an inside joke of sorts. I tried to convince my mom that we wouldn’t have enough dessert for everyone, but she brushed off my warnings, reminding me that no one really eats our dessert anyway. I was defeated, and the other families came to the unveiling.
Despite my doubts, 2012 was one of the best reveals yet. With everyone included, we had nearly three times the disgusted exclamations when we pulled away the sheet to reveal chocolate dog poop served on top of edible grass with poop bags instead of plates.

As the years went on, word of our tradition spread. Soon enough, the whole neighborhood waited eagerly for my mom’s inevitable Facebook post revealing what my brothers, Judi and I had baked that year. What started as a silly family tradition became a ridiculous event that many families look forward to each year.

This year, we celebrated Thanksgiving with the biggest group yet, and not one person dared eat our eyeball cake that had edible blood spilling out of it. After the initial reveal, we had several people come up to my brothers and I with suggestions for future years.

This happens pretty often now that most people we know are in on the joke. We have fun listening to other people’s ideas and getting tagged in pictures of desserts online for inspiration.

Our inside joke has become an outside joke, and while I wasn’t too happy about it at first, having everyone included is now the best part about Thanksgiving.

Inside jokes can be the best kind of jokes. When you hear something that triggers a funny memory and you make eye contact with your friend before bursting into laughter, it’s a giddy, elated feeling. But, there’s a time and place for inside jokes. They can seem unnecessarily exclusive when they’re referenced in groups where only a few people don’t get it, leaving them to feel excluded and dumb for not understanding. In that situation, what’s the harm in sharing the memory behind the joke with those other friends? When other people are let in on the joke, the dessert can be a whole lot sweeter anyway.