Wind Whipping Through My Hair.

Earl and I went to Bucks County, Pa. this weekend for his annual family reunion. It’s always fun to get together with his family. They’re a jovial bunch and they make me feel very welcome, even though I sometimes feel like the Uncle in the Aunt slot.

I often refer to his family reunion as the Alphabet Assault. Since his relatives see me once a year at the most, I often get P.J., D.R., Z.Z., L.M. or Steve (I guess all gay men are named Steve). It’s better than “Asshat”, I suppose. At least Earl’s siblings have the “J.P.” part down, which is good. All in all, the food was great, the stories were entertaining and a good time was had by all.

We played miniature golf with Rick (Earl’s step brother) and Helen (Rick’s girlfriend). I’ve played miniature golf only a handful of times, so onlookers may find me amusing. At least I resisted the urge to swing the club around like I was in the band colorguard. Afterwards we went to a local diner where the waitress apparently paid absolutely no attention to what we ordered since all of our food was mixed up. But we ate it anyways, lest a surly cook in the back spit on our food. As frequent restaurant guests, we learned long ago to shut up and eat what is served, even if it’s hamburger patty served fresh out of the ice box, lest we have the cook get surly and do something suspicious to our food. On the other hand, I could just be paranoid.

Since the weather was cooperative, we put the top on the Jeep down and drove all the way home in glorious sunshine and somewhat seasonable temperatures. Thank goodness for the sunscreen! It was great to let the wind whip through my hair mustache.

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