Playing With Your Food

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.