In a fortnight, 19 of us will descend on this unsuspecting house in Salvo, on Hatteras Island for the 16th iteration of this tradition. We have come a long way since that very first mildew and cockroach infested bungalow in Sandbridge 30 years ago. Back then, Mom and Granny Till did most of the cooking. Somewhere along the line somebody came up with the fateful and ill-considered idea to assign each family the job of making dinner for everyone. As of this hour, Pam is the only one who has not decided on a menu. My suggestion of subs and Krispi Kreme went over like a lead balloon. She seems hesitant to plan a meal which requires me to cook on the grill since it’s charcoal only...as if I am incapable of making the adjustment from gas. Nonsense. I am capable of both undercooking and burning the hell out of any cut of meat, regardless of what fuel is used!!
There will be no dogs this year. Becca the dog whisperer has been employed once again, much to Lucy’s delight. I have secured a couple of new, disgusting practical joke props to add to my reputation for mischief and juvenile chicanery. Let’s just say that if it creeps, crawls, or slithers I’ve got it covered.
This year, it appears that my clan will have the bottom floor of the house, the six of us occupying the three bedrooms and two bathrooms down there. Of course, this means that I will have to walk up not one, but TWO flights of stairs each day to get my morning coffee. In the spirit of compromise and congeniality, I have chosen to overlook this outrage.