The grandson is heading south to deer-hunt with some friends. He bought a roll of hot summer sausage at work today for the trip, and here at the house he grabbed a half-roll of Ritz crackers. I suggested he take a whole roll.
"There's some bologna in the freezer," I offered.
I had bought it for that weekend we took the granddaughters to Branson, in case we ran out of real food. Fat chance of that happening. Anyhow, we don't eat bologna around here. So he took it. Then I offered cheese, which he also accepted.
"If you're taking bologna and cheese, you need bread and Miracle Whip," I told him. So we found a container for that stuff, and some plastic knives for spreading.
The grandson headed out with both hands full of food, bidding me goodbye.
"Drive carefully, and shoot safely," I said.
"Oh, crap!" he exclaimed, setting down the foodstuff. "I almost forgot my gun; I'm sure glad you said 'shoot safely'."
*deep sigh, accompanied by a shrug and rolling of the eyes*