This past Memorial Day was young Rosie’s first neighborhood party. That sweltering Sunday, our assembled revelers arrived to Flossmoor with loads of beers made not too far from the sleepy South Chicago suburb. Included were a few cases proudly acquired from exotic locations like New Glarus, Wisconsin.
The adult humans entertained themselves by catching up, making bawdy jokes, and playing that game where you throw the Frisbee and try to hit a beer bottle off your opponent's PVC pipe while alternately trying to catch the falling bottles your opponent attempts to knock off your PVC pipe.
Despite our best clean-up efforts, at least one bottle managed to elude our reach. And Rosie, left to her own devices, took advantage of the situation. I’m pretty confident she didn't get much actual liquid. Which is probably for the best—she’s underage anyway.