Holy Social Contract, Batman!

A rather gloomy afternoon here in Your Nation's Capital for hosting a Labor Day cookout, which is what this Llama is about to undertake. Fortunately - touch wood - it isn't pouring rain yet, so I should be able to grill without any trouble. Unfortunately, it is sufficiently soggy to prevent people from milling around outside, which is what I'd been hoping they would do.

Now, it'll probably collapse into a kitchen party. We hates kitchen parties! Those builder's ads that trumpet the big open kitchen with the island in the middle - perfect for casual entertainment - give me the screaming heebie-jeebies. We've got a perfectly good living room, a perfectly good dining room and a perfectly good library. Why the hell do people have to congregate in the kitchen to watch all the preparations? Takes all the style and mystery out of it and replaces them with a familiarity I can do without. I mean, if you and your significant other are going to spend a romantic evening together, you don't hang around the bathroom watching each other get ready, do you? (If you do, I don't want to hear about it.)

Anyway, I have never yet hit upon a line that at once lifts people out of the kitchen and at the same time does not appear very rude. So rather than appearing surly, I just try to use my diabolical mind control to will them into another room. Alas, it usually doesn't work very well. Grrr.

UPDATE: All is well. The rain held off, the kids disbursed into the yard, the adults drifted on to the porch and we spent the evening snarking about the Dems' panic. Yours truly was responsible for cooking 16 burgers and 20 dogs on my trusty Webber 30 inch grill. I had 'em rotating through in a manner that would put an O'Hare air traffic controller to shame. Finally, what better way to cap things off than the two year old literally pushing the Missus and me upstairs and saying "Bedtime! Bedtime!"

In other words, I had a good time in spite of myself.