On a fateful day about 15 years ago, while out for a run with a few of his friends, my husband came up with the glorious idea of starting a sort of unofficial fraternity centered around jogging and red wine. Within a short time, the club of ten was established and given a name – the Latin translation of “The Dumb Brothers”. What began as a joke took a (suspiciously) serious turn as membership criteria, rules and statutes, a local charitable purpose and, eventually, traditional events developed. These events were categorized into three types: “F” meant frat boys only, “FF” meant frat boys and females (well, actually “Frauen” which means “wives”), and “FFF” which is for frat boys, females, and families. For instance there have been a few FF bike tours over the years and annual FFF house concerts. The two biggest “must attend” events (both F) are the Christmas dinner (where a new “Headman” is elected) and the New Year’s Eve morning run followed by a blind wine tasting. This lasts till about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and, as it so happens, takes place in my house. (I keep as much distance as I can from the living room while it is going on.) Four things are always a part of this event: the appetizer is Korean kimchi, the main dish is cabbage strudel, there is a manliness test involving hot chili peppers, and the second “F’s” get annoyed about the whole thing. They complain, understandably, that it complicates their evening plans.
Last night, as I was at home, on call for daughter-chauffeuring, and working on my euphoria post, my husband attended the Dumb Brothers Christmas Dinner. At 7:38 pm, my cell chimed as the first Whats App message of the evening arrived. Here it is and what ensued (recreated here visually with original pictures but translated text):
To be completely honest, it was getting a bit . . . distracting. A bit . . . annoying. When the fourth message arrived, I had to take action.
Unfortunately, this didn’t slow the hubby down. A battle ensued.
Please notice who got the last word here.