So, what were we talking about? Oh right. Every holiday get-together whether it's with coworkers, family... or neighbors, it seems infertile couples always get grilled like a cheese sandwich on their parenting status. "When are you going to have a baby?"
"Why aren't you trying?"
"What are you doing to try to get pregnant?"
This holiday weekend, we're going to put all that infertile-couple grilling on the back burner with the baked beans and make some neighbors the main entree.
Let the long weekend be interminable for someone else for a change. (Start with Monday's post if you can. And please consider subscribing to this blog for weekly offers, updates, and info)
"Hi BJ! Glad you could come to our barbecue! Come on up! There's something I've been meaning to ask you...
So, BJ, how did you get that name? I mean I always assumed it was short for something like Betty Jean or Barbara Jane, but then your sister came to visit that time and she called you 'Marion' like five times.
So I really didn't think much of it but then I noticed that boyfriend you had. I remember thinking I knew him from somewhere but I didn't know where and then it came to me but I didn't mention it to you because I didn't want to embarrass you so I thought I'd wait for the appropriate time...
And what could be a more appropriate time than at a Memorial Day weekend barbecue with a mile's-worth of neighbors within eavesdropping distance?
So anyway, I'm pretty sure that boyfriend is the neighborhood's Domino's delivery boy. Which is okay, but apparently he's delivering more to you than he is to the rest of us.
I mean one time he didn't even give me pizza. Apparently he had stopped short en route and didn't notice that my pie had slid out of the box and onto his carpet. So he actually delivered an empty box to us. I'm not kidding. It had nothing in it but that little white plastic table that's supposed to keep the pizza from sticking to the cardboard cover. Well it kept it from sticking alright.
It's probably not my business, he can do whatever he wants with his two dollar tip, I'm just a little pissed that there's already a two dollar delivery charge...I just don't think he should be taking my delivery charge plus my tip to deliver something to you that's not even on the menu.
Apparently you're tipping him exceedingly better than we are...whether or not your pizza touched his car floor.
I mean I feel like I should eat my pizza, and then, say, an hour later, walk over to your house and get my four dollars back.
Just promise me one thing, BJ: Please don't be creative and get amorous in his Corolla. I understand what an aphrodisiac it can be to know that only a few feet above you is the Domino's sign clipped to the roof...but please, I just could never eat another pizza out of that car.
Not to judge, but don't you find it a little low-life to be fooling around with a Domino's guy? A Papa John delivery guy I could see. But Dominos... Please BJ...Show some class.
And, by the way, don't you find the whole older woman customer/pizza delivery boy thing such a porno movie cliche?
I just hope he's a better lover than he is a delivery boy.
Listen, I gotta go. The weekend's almost here and I still haven't grilled half the people in the sub-division.
Grilled neighbor: It should be a new food item at this year's state fair.
I'll talk with ya again on Tuesday. Have a great holiday weekend!