So, last night the Neils came over for dinner. Again. For the ninth time this week. How does one have dinner nine times in a seven day week you ask? That’s a story for another time, unfortunately. At this point I am starting to think that they are homeless. And unemployed. 

I digress. Neil One brings over a smoked turkey, sliced, and already sealed in refrigerate friendly containers. Apparently he had already eaten and brought his left overs...over. This is the second time he has done this. Today. 

Neal Two saunters in wearing nothing but a pair of rubber overalls -where’d he get those?- and oven mitts. I am pretty 100% positive that he was not wearing anything underneath the rubbero’s (lovingly named)...and he smelled. Something like hot-left-in-the-car orange juice crossed with two day old dead rat snake and a pinch of gas station restroom. If you have ever owned a Dachshund, you know this smell well. 

Left over turkey and olfactory overload aside, Turtle and I set the table for dinner. This would be a fairly mundane task had it not been for Neil Two insisting he was King of All that is TabLUE-hoodoo (I swear to you that’s how he said it), shucked his rubbero’s off and proceeded to dance frantically -some kind of pop’n’lock technique I am unfamiliar with- on the table, singing “Louie, Louie” at the top of his vocal range. Neal One just sat in the corner, nodding appreciatively, smoking a pipe I am quite sure he did not arrive with.