Just as all the dishes were being set out for buffet-style Thanksgiving feasting, I announced that the feeders could get their beverages. The Mansion is not a full-service restaurant, you know. I will commend the four dudes for not stampeding like they were running with the bulls in Pamplona. No elbows were thrown, in spite of the dangerously high level of testosterone filling the kitchen.
A raggedy line was formed in front of Frig II, to fill up with ice. I had assigned that duty to The Pony, but the #1 son and his college friend must have felt sorry for him, or else did not want his hands on their glasses. So the three guys were icing up, and I was setting out the last-minute deviled eggs and veggie/dip tray and seven-layer salad when I heard it.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
That was not a rhetorical question. Farmer H was standing across the kitchen counter from me, opening the two-liter bottles of soda. ALL FOUR OF THEM!
The #1 son caught my eye and rolled his. The Pony snorted. Friend looked uncomfortable.
"I'm opening the soda, HM. So we can pour it."
"Do you really think you need to open all four bottles? Maybe we're not going to drink every kind." Sweet Gummi Mary! You'd think we were ten-year-olds at CiCi's Pizza making suicides.
"There's nothing wrong with opening them."
"They'll go flat."
"They won't go flat. There. I'll drink the Diet Mountain Dew. I like Diet Mountain Dew."
"I know. You drink it all the time. So why did you open the Diet A&W Root Beer?"
"I didn't. I stopped."
"Yeah, Mom. He stopped." I really didn't need #1 taking sides. Unless he was on MY side.
"Then why is it all foamy on top?"
"Let me check the lid. Yep. He opened it all right."
"That doesn't matter, HM. I'll drink it. And it doesn't have to be cold." The look on the other four of us did not seem to matter.
"Uh huh. Just so you know, I caught him keeping a bottle of real Coke, which he's not supposed to have, sitting on the floor under the window. It had been there since Christmas at Grandma's house. And it was about 1/3 full."
"I can't believe he said he wants the Sprite left over to mix with his bourbon. That's just wrong."
"He doesn't have bourbon! He has that Jack Daniels that I bought him in the gift box with the honeybee flask."
"At our college house, we bought 10-year-old bourbon that came with glasses."
"Says the expert who drinks his margaritas out of a tumbler."
"Anyway, you don't mix whiskey with Sprite."
"Especially when you're not even supposed to have the Sprite!"
Yeah. Farmer H was taking liberties with the two-liters. At least no alcohol made an appearance.
That I know of.