“I’m really looking forward to being in Spokane with my ex-girlfriend,” said the Lad to me on the tellyphone. “She is taking me to a party on Friday night, and on Saturday we’re going to a pig roast.”
A pig roast, eh? Well, now I am worried. I know how romantic a pig roast can be. The polka music, the star-spangled halter-tops baring skin that is slippery with pig grease, the seductive smell of hog. Why didn’t I ever have the forethought to take him to a party which featured a mammal on a spit? Oh, curse me for a vegetarian fool!