It was our fifth night at the Buck Summerhill Camp in Big Wolf. And they were sick of my cooking, I could tell.
“We’re going to have a fridge tilt tonight!” Nancy announced, explaining the camp tradition of a big dinner to clear out leftovers and uneaten stuff. “So you can have a night off.”
I imagined them whispering in the bedroom:
Nancy: “Can you possibly choke down another of his ‘gourmet’ dinners??” More