Avery Would Like a Manwich, Please

Not to be a snob—shut up, Jasper—but I may have overshot when it came to my contribution to the evening’s pot luck. I’d purchased a smorgasbord of gourmet desserts from Whole Foods Market—tarts, cookies, and other delectable bite-sized delights. In an effort to give a more formal presentation, I plated the treats on a sterling silver service “borrowed” during a visit to my parents’ home in Oak Brook.

Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t had a Manwich since I was about 10 years old. Even in that instance, it was only because my mother left me with a teenaged sitter who was more occupied with telephoning her boyfriend than my nutritional health. But who am I to judge.
Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

“Dig in,” proclaimed Rodney.

I looked at my Sloppy Joe which was presented on Chinet atop an orange polyester table cloth. Oh well, I said to myself, When in Rome… or in this case, Milwaukee, circa 1972. I took a bite. OMG. Who knew that loose meat could taste so heavenly? A smile crept across my face. Jack smiled at me in turn.

As I continued to enjoy my Joe, I pondered the idea that these people could potentially become my in-laws. Sure the fashion was awful, the décor hideous and the artery-clogging gastronomical selection lethal, but—save for the awkward introduction between the mother and me—everyone seemed pretty nice. Furthermore Rodney and Stanley—who, it turns out is a retired flight attended (hold all jokes please, more about this tidbit of information later), were both extremely welcoming.

Just as I began to think I could really be at home there, the dinner conversation started. ¿Como se dice, WTF?