Dear Grandpa Wiggly,
Have you ever been to a Lemon Party?
Unfortunately, dear Chuck, I have been to a Lemon Party, but it was nothing like I expected.
I didn’t know what a Lemon Party was and to be honest, I’m still not sure. Details of the evening are spotty at best. I thought it was going to be like a Tea Party (the non-crazy kind), of which I’ve attended many. I thought we were going to be making lemonade. I even called first squeeze! But no lemons were squeezed that day, my friends. I must have looked pretty silly when I showed up carrying that sad sack of freshly-picked lemons.
I should have known there was something amiss when the gracious host offered me a spot of tea without first putting water on to boil.
“Care for a hot tea bag, Wiggly?” he said.
“Oh, yes, that would certainly hit the spot,” I said.
“How do you take it? One lump or two?”
“Two with just a drizzle of cream.”
It was more than a drizzle. A deluge is not a drizzle! Where did this brute learn his tea etiquette anyway? I doubt he even owns a tea kettle!
Let me tell you, that was the last time I’ll ever attend a Lemon Party with those overly eager and rude gentlemen. When it came time to play games — bizarre games I’ve never heard of before — they were rather selfish and couldn’t even wait their turns. I don’t care how many hard sixes in a row you roll, where I come from the guest always shoots first.
Naturally, I didn’t stick around for their followup game of craps. Hard six, my tuckus!
That whole evening left a sour taste in my mouth that took me weeks of gargling and brushing with mayonnaise to rid. I guess that’s why they call it a Lemon Party.