So my parents are having a big birthday bash tomorrow; they’ve combined their birthdays to a big 130-year celebration. It’ll be pretty swank.
Hence the dinosaur cookies; they’re for the kids.
However, there’s about two-and-a-half hours between the guests - forty-two souls strong! - arriving and the food being served.
"We’ll need snacks," mother decides.
"Don’t worry," says father. "I shall buy some."
He goes and returns with five bags - ordinary size - of discount chips and one - count it - one jar of salsa.
This is not a big jar. This is not a tub. This is for four friends during movie night. Two, if they really like salsa.
And he still doesn’t understand how this won’t be enough for forty-two hungry guests, and feels our insistence that we also get, say, guacamole or literally any other kind of dip along with it is just excessive.
I feel this tells you everything you need to know about my father.