OVER IT OVER AGAIN

Whenever we go to family functions, on either side, funny things happen. They don't seem funny at the time and they don't seem funny to others -- until I put my spin on them.

The best part of most family functions is the ride home in the car -- when I tend to retell the best moments with a little, well, editorializing.

Andy, my husband, calls it rants.

I call it soliloquizing.

It's a word. I just typed it. And spell-checked it.

My latest soliloquy was about James -- Andy's friend since grade school. We invited James to a barbeque at our house last weekend. He asked if there was anything he could bring, aside from a sandwich and some beer.

I looked at him quizzically. (I have this thing where my face always gives me away. I make faces without knowing it. Needless to say, I don't play poker.) "I don't like barbeque food," he explained.

"But you just ate a burger!" I let out, before my filter kicked in.

And we left it at that. Well, we left it at Andy telling James he'd get a sandwich from this great deli near our house so all he had to worry about were beverages.

I didn't even wait for us to get inside the safety of our car.

"He doesn't like barbeque food?!?!?! He just ate a hamburger! Who doesn't like barbeque? Who goes to a barbeque and brings a subway sandwich? People are going to make fun of him."

Andy calmly listened for much longer, and simply explained, "he's a fussy man." And left it at that.

I couldn't. Two days later, James posted on his Facebook account about how he was looking forward to his Wendy's hamburger (emphasis mine)! I mean, really, because if you don't trust the food I get that but then why do you trust Wendy's and since it's obvious you like hamburgers then why don't you like barbeque?!?! (Aside from the obvious rant about really, who cares what you're eating for lunch this very minute...)

But, once again, I let it go. (Really! I did.)

When Saturday rolled around, and James sat down with his special deli sandwich in the middle of a table of my friends, I heard: "In a yard full of mostly women, I think you're the fussiest one here!" followed by 20 questions on why he doesn't like barbeque and if the sandwich has to be from a special deli with special meat, etc.

I had to run into the house to stop from laughing in front of James.

And, as we embark on the weekend of all barbeque weekends, I don't have an ounce of pity for James. He doesn't need it or want it. Because, as fussy as he is, he didn't let it bother him in the least. He may be fussy, but he's confident.