My Son Started Packing My Barbecue Into Takeout Boxes

in one stiff motion.

“Ashley, come on. We don’t need to sit here and be insulted.”

Frank said, “That ship sailed when you brought Tupperware to somebody else’s cookout.”

I shot him a look. He shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

Michael’s ears had gone red.

“You could’ve told me privately.”

I said, “You could’ve asked privately.”

That shut him up for a second.

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