I have problems making dinner. As in, I routinely get home after 8 pm. Who wants to cook then? And who wants to spend their morning preparing a meal to be reheated hours later? I suppose what I really should be doing is making lovely salads for myself. Quick, yummy, good on hot days. Okay, that’s my new back-up plan.

But my real dinner plan these days is called crashing the party. Usually at my parents’ or my cousins’, sometimes at Bronwen’s parents’ (good grief, could I have a sentence with any more possessive apostrophes?). Three out of my last five dinners have been at someone else’s house – and with no effort on my part! It just happens. Tonight the plan is this: my cousin’s wife (Di) and my dad (Jimmy Timmy) (I hope no one googles his nickname anytime soon…) are on a softball team, and tonight is the last game. So we’re all trekking over to a field in NE and watching the game (although in my case I’ll be lucky to catch the last inning) and then the cousins are hosting a potluck. I can bring some melon and cookies and hey, dinner! Isn’t family great?

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