Wednesday nights, dinner at church before class. It's a lovely way to spend time normally in the car or at a drive-in, particularly since Brent is cooking. However, name tags are suggested.
A few weeks ago, Tim asked me who I wanted to be. He was filling in the name tags. Harold, I said. For years, we'd behaved in the usual fashion. He started us off in a new direction. For a few weeks, we used each others' names: Tim. Rick. Larry.
Turns out, people actually read name tags, so other people at dinner tipped to it quickly. Professor Joe admitted, in a class on envy, that Tom Brady, the illustrious quarterback, turned him pea green. Brady had succeeded at a level unattainable by mere mortals, That and Giselle. The next week -- everybody at the table wore the nametag: Tom Brady. Professor Joe laughed.
Then we just started making up names. Rugged Ralph. Silly Agnes. Pretty Paulie.
So who had dinner last night with the gang? Uncle Buckly.