We spent Labor Day with Aunt MacGuff. Her retirement home likes to throw parties for every conceivable occasion, but they have a slight logistical problem in serving residents and guests food. Sometimes they run out of the good stuff. Promised sliced beef? You're getting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
To fix this problem the administrative staff decided to only let the residents who have guests make reservations. That's logical, I mean residents only live there until they die. Why should they have priority? The residents, however, did not take that shit lying down.
Toddler Flails-a-lot loves a good melee with her barbecue.
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