I am concerned about the acronym, however I could not think about a better title so please ignore it.
Last night I visited what was formally Avondale, Az in which 900 Grande Prairie Tissingtons have bought houses causing the city to change the name. It is said you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a Tissington, unless it is a Little cat, in which case you hit cousin Bruce. I don’t know if everyone who attended would like to be identified as I am not the paparazzi but the three who’s names spell S.I.T. were there and at one point a call to Grande Prairie was made to talk to the family God Father, Sir Fredrick.
The parties there are so good that Dave had to raise the block fence and mount flame throwers to keep the neighbors out causing them to start a petition asking to also be adopted as Tissingtons so they could attend them as well.
Let me be clear, these are not the Tissington parties of years gone by, these are relatively quiet, civilized parties that feature the best food ever! Somehow I got temporary family status so I could attend them as well, okay I didn’t I just show up at meal time and they are far to polite not to invite me in. In any event the evening started with Chef Dave manning the outside kitchen starting with bar-b-q wings, and chicken balls. I don’t mean the small ones that would fall through the grill, I mean big hunks of chicken wrapped in batter, deep fried then re-bar-b-q’ed. Of course there was his famous bacon wrapped shrimp and other appetizers. I was stuffed when Iris walked out with a large plate of burgers for Dave to cook and salads started showing up.
For me this raises an important question. At one time Dave ballooned up a little then lost enough weight to create another small person and has kept it off for a few years now. How? I gained four pounds last night just eating his food.
As a side note a couple other GP friends also snuck in and talk turned to the local US news when Tom F told us of an incident where an older lady, and when I say older you know it is really old, was stopped on a near by highway. Apparently the report said the officer asked to see her drivers license and while she was rummaging through her purse to find it he noticed she also had a gun permit. After checking her license and telling her to slow down he said he noticed the gun license and wondered if she was carrying one.
“Yes,” she said, “I have a 22 pistol here in the console.” He asked to see it and she took it out and laid it on the seat. Apparently that is the protocol, you don’t hand it to them, especially barrel first as they tend to get excited, according to T. Tissington and he knows about such things.
The officer looked at the gun and said, “is that it?”
“Well I do have a 9 millimeter in the glove box.” she said, to which he asked to see it as well. After she laid it down he asked, “Do you have any more weapons””
“Well I do have a 45 here under the seat.” She looked up sweetly at him.
“Lady, you have a permit so there is nothing wrong with you having all these guns but I have to ask you, what are you afraid of?”
“Not a dam think” came her reply…
And so it goes down here.
I had a great time enjoying the fire, and listening to the stories and remember Dave the saying is Break a leg not a foot!