It was The Burp's birthday yesterday. To celebrate this, and catch up with people they hadn't seen in a while, she and The Rooster had an open house on Sunday.
Grumpy and I headed on over for a barbecue lunch with them and the Chopper-sirs, because it had been Mrs Chopper's birthday last Friday. I took some dips and a potato salad and a cheesecake. Mrs Chopper brought over her patent-pending WonderDip.
We got to meet The Roosterparents who were up for a few days from Hopetoun. They seemed like sensible, moderate people. The kind of people who would raise a son who can do anything, because they probably can too.
We were outside enjoying the sunshine, some quiet conversation and the array of delicious, healthful entrees when The Burp stood up and said, "Well, I'm going to get the barbecue going because if I don't" - and here she waved her arm over the colourful bounty of nibblies - "I'll just end up filling up on crap."
Naturally Mrs Chopper and I were aghast, taken aback, shocked and even a little hurt. The thing is, The Burp doesn't need to worry about my feelings, but she'd better hope that The Choppers don't have ready access to some stables.
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