Just got back from a week-long orgy of food, bocce, music, talking, listening, and laughing that could technically be called a “family reunion” except that there’s no “re.” It’s just a union.
At the annual Angelo love fest, I usually hear about 20 jokes and remember none. As an indicator of just how much sharper my mind has become over the last few years, I managed to bring one tiny one home with me. It’s very short. Ready?
On the first day, God sauteed a little garlic.