So my husband and I went over to the Boy Scout Spaghetti Dinner in 2 separate cars because the Cub Scouts are planning to leave right after spaghetti for an astronomy field trip.
I’d been gone all day, so at dinner, my husband (Mr. Cubmaster) gave me the scoop on the plans for the evening.
“After dinner I’m going over to where they’re meeting and I’ll make sure everyone has directions and see them off. Then I’m going to come back here and hang out with the Boy Scout leaders. Little Brother will be with me because he wants to help with the dinner.” (Translation: Little Brother wants to hang out with the Big Boys. And they put up with him, so it’s all good. And sometimes he actually helps, a little.)
So I ate my dinner and enjoyed the ’80s music provided by the Troop’s own DJs, the Clubmasters. (Nice job, guys. I particularly enjoyed “Addicted to Love,” for the record.)
I asked my husband, the meteorologist, if this trip was even going to happen.
“It’s cloudy,” he said. “There won’t be anything to see. Even if they go, I’m not going.”
“What if Little Brother wants to go?”
“I’m not going. After they all leave, I’ll bring Little Brother back here.”
OK. Middle Sister and I finished our food; she visited with her friends among the Scouts and we left. I wasn’t expecting them back for about another hour anyway–and then my cell phone buzzed to signal a new text.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
Yup. They went. Should be interesting to hear all about how that went down.