We held hands and blessed our food, all the troops and their families, all the babies on the way, and the families who were struggling in the economic crisis.
Then everyone dug in, except for Halfway Between. "It's so weird that I'm going to be an uncle!"
"Where's your food, Son?" Hubbalicious asked, as the Teen Wonder gingerly sipped his tea.
"I'm not hungry."
"Not hungry? Your Mother slaved over that stove for ten whole minutes. . .you better get your butt up there and fix a plate."
"Ah, no thanks. . .." he leaned back in his chair.
"What, are you just feeling anti-social?"
"Maybe he's 'Uncle Social,'" I suggested.
"I'm just not real hungry!" he said again, but then he got up and prepared a sampling of dirty rice and a smattering of peas. He returned to the table with his meager portions.
"What, are you anorexic?" The Edge asked him.
"Maybe he's 'Uncle Rexic!'"
Don't forget to tip your bartender. I'll be here all week. . .