We were having a cookout for about a dozen friends and acquaintances (of whom only four bothered to show up, but that's another story) and the first drops of rain started coming down as I put the burgers and the chicken on the grill. Then came the deluge.
This is the jacket I didn't get to wear at BoN because the weather was too nice, and I'm thinking about writing a nice note to the folks at Duluth: not only didn't it catch fire, but the hood has a brim deep enough that you can bend over can carry an entire plater of food in to the kitchen without getting it any wetter than it already got. And it's light enough not to stifle you when it's 80 degrees out. Seriously. My pants were soaked through half way up the calf, but a plate of burgers and chicken and and another of grilled zucchini later, plus bringing in all the prep containers, the rest of me was dry.
Then, of course, the rain stopped.
It was not, as J said, the cookout we had expected. Writers. Don't know if the high point was the description of a scene in someone's novel with Lucifer leading a march through downtown Boston or a couple of older writers ooh-ing and aah-ing at the remarkable simplicity of this new publishing medium called a, uh, blog. (And asking questions like, "Is this a blog or a web page?")
The boy behaved as well as could be expected and then some (expect for the cheese-scattering incident, which we will not say any more about) and the kitchen wasn't nearly as terrifying to clean up as we'd thought. Another day, another social mishap...