My aunt Rita and uncle Larry throw a big fish fry every summer at their lake place in Wisconsin.
We’re going. Primo will be fine being thrown into the mosh pit of my family.
At least I know people will be polite to him. Although my grandmother does things like offer the lion’s share of the good treats to the men because they are men (my mom says, “Nope. They haven’t been baling hay all day. We can share this treat equally”), she is a generous, kind person who just wants the people around her to be happy and very well fed.
And at least there will be food. Good luck to Primo getting away with eating not very much, because in my family, food is how you show hospitality and love and may God have mercy on your soul if a guest is hungry in your domain. Saying there will be food at an event with my family – at any visit with my family – is like saying that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow. It’s a big, “Duh of course.”