Our friend, Tall Jay, not to be confused with Small Jay, has hosted "formal Sunday" for the last couple of years. We get all dressed up and watch football. This year, he's taken "formal" to another level. Last year, formal meant no jeans, suits for boys, cute dresses or slacks for girl. This year, "formal" for the girls means sequins and pearls. Omg. The formal part of formal Sunday was cancelled today. Mainly because it was cold as balls. So. For future weeks, I can pull out my turquoise dress from my friend Amy's Bat Mitzvah in 1993. It's amazing. Somewhere on my old blog, there's a picture, but I'm too lazy to go find it right now. Picture this... knee length with layers of tulle under the skirt, sequined sweetheart neckline, puffy off the shoulder sleeves. Fashion plate, baby.
Anyway. Jay grilled burgers tonight. Everyone in the free world knows I cannot eat a hamburger without pickles. Not happening. So before I went over to Jay's, I asked... do you have pickles. Yes. Okay.
What did he have? Dill. Pickle. SPEARS. How the balls am I supposed to enjoy a hamburger (which is merely a vessel for pickles) with SPEARS? Omg. Yes, he got yelled at.
Not only do I need approximately 10-12 pickles per hamburger, they have to be placed in just the right position to ensure at least one pickle per bite of burger. If they fall out, they're replaced. They have to be the right temperature and the right thickness. I'm sort of pickle snob. Clearly.
