Saturday night, as temperate and lovely a late summer's night as you could wish. A few of my friends come over for a late season cookout. The Argentinian flank steak has been marinating for a week. The vegetable lasagna has been baked to crusty perfection. The salads are chilling, the artichoke tapenade is ready to spread on crunchy toasted bruschetta. The ladies arrive. A red-headed priestess of the Celtic Shaman order. A volcanic Latina with curly ringlets who can spot your aura a mile away accompanied by her lissome teenage daughter. Man I wish I knew the things she know about the cosmos at her age, instead of being fed Protestant catechisms and turn-your-cheek supplications. The sexy sun-kissed Jersey Mom is last to arrive with her sublime 9 year-old daughter.
Only one problem. Ok, two. The grill won't light and there's no Citronella oil for the tiki torches. It is after all late summer and mosquitos don't give up that easily. I trek off to Target, to Shop n Stop and finally to a local QuickChek. No luck. The girls are getting antsy so we pile into Jersey Girl's van with freaking neat-o self-operating sliding doors and head off to Home Depot. And guess what? the men in orange aprons don't have a lick of oil left. Dammit to all hell! Back to the house where I sheepishly call the fiance for some desperate intervention. Said man has stayed out of the equation intentionally, shy of witchy women during a full moon he is, and rightly so. The grill fires up AFTER we consume the salad and lasagna. At least the hot fudge sundaes are a hit, rapidly chowed by all and it's a few hours of star gazing, fire watching and gabbing.
At least it didn't rain.
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