Barbecue with James and Yvette

Our friends James and Yvette had us over for a barbecue today. You've probably heard me talk about them. By now, Yvette is probably a famous artist. And James has a brain the size of a minivan--he ought to be applying it to something a little more challenging than advertising.

As I write this, they've been trying to have a baby for a while. They've even gone to Atlanta to adopt a baby, but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) the mother changed her mind once the kid was born.

The reason I mention all this was that first thing when we got there, they offered us something to drink, to which your mother said she wasn't drinking. Maybe she meant it as a hint--I suppose she could have just said, "Sure, I'll take a glass of water," but Yvette picked up on it and asked if there was a reason.

I have to digress as this point to mention that your mother makes quite a big deal about being a bit of a lush. It's mostly theatrics, although she does enjoy a glass of wine or several, especially when there are others around. So for her to state publicly that she won't be having wine is a bit of a tipoff to people who pay attention.

Yvette apparently pays attention.

So we told them.

I feel a little guilty, getting to have something they so desperately want. And even more so because we haven't been trying as hard as they have to have a kid.

They've just redone their house--it looks fantastic, by the way, with a huge garage door that opens their living room to the outside--and they have a baby room all ready.

We don't. We live in a duplex in Hollywood with no place to put you even if we wanted to stay here, which we don't.

And that's another thing. We don't even know where we're going to live or what we're going to do to make a living to support you. Are we being utterly insane?

Probably.