Since Wilma hasn't been making his meals for him, Ken has been free to follow his appetites. It would seem he has been denied the AMOUNT of JAM a grown man requires. When Gary and his sister both heard how much peach jam Ken has been putting on his toast, they individually decided to get him peach jam.
Ken now has ten jars of peach jam. Well, one is peach/apricot. (Apricot! A fuzzy fruit.)
Mr. W and Karen brought Bandana's barbecue and my Gary brought ice cream cake. Ice cream cake is a high-maintenance food. He bought it the night before, so it had to be stored in our freezer, invalidating the instruction to bring it out twenty minutes before serving.
So Gary was concerned the cake! Might not melt! Ever! Damnit!
So we drove to his parents in the ninety degree heat with the HEATER ON. You know, for the CAKE.
Eventually I panted, "I have MS, you know."
"Tossing out the MS card, are you?"
Seriously. This was followed an hour later by his parents explaining how they like to be taken care of and babied when they are sick. I wanted to warn Wilma I was installing strobe lighting in every room for her precious epileptic baby.
No quarter! No prisoners!