Today, we had a most delightful barbecue with my Stone-family cousins. Such fun catching up, commenting on the warp-speed growth of the children, and eating our way through the day.
Unfortunately, someone pointed out to Pops that the garage sale across the street had marked all their left-overs with a "free" sign. Pops and I have different perspectives on a good deal. To me, "free" can still be junk. To Pops, "free" can turn junk into treasure. Before I knew it, all the men were cheering Monty-Python euphemisms over his new silver chalices. Chalices, I might add that no amount of polish could redeem and are brazenly emboldened with the words "MOM" and "DAD."
I pleaded that he return them to the heap of rejected junk, and the women nodded in agreement. The men, however, were most unhelpful and made Pops more determined than ever to find fond affection for the duo.
So Jen, here is my ode to the awful things. And George ... when you come over, I'm making you drink from the "Mom" goblet.