Raw and Unedited. Brace Yourself.

[a brief documentation of a Wesbury brunch]

What would cause Kevin Charles Cronin to pour cow grease into an empty orange juice can? What would prompt Linda Joy to scrutinize the egg bake for a particular amount of cheddar cheese? What kind of demonic mess could possibly be spawned in this petite 710 Bashore Drive kitchen -- a mess so potentially overwhelming that the cousins avoid the very entryway of said kitchen, for fear of being pressed into service when a motherly voice hollers, "All right! Time to clean up the kitchen!" As the narrator for the infamous Tootsie Roll Pop commercials would say, the world may never know.
As noon swiftly approaches, our tummies begin to growl. The three youngest of the youngsters hide away in a back bedroom to play games, like the clever little hermits they are. (Except hermits do not generally find card games to be particularly insightful.) One could guess that their motive is simple: sitting around, listening to people talk about people they don't even know.... it's just not exciting enough. "No offense...."
Or perhaps they cannot stand to whiff the luscious aromas emitted from the oven. (Especially considering the fact that they will not get to enjoy consuming the sources of said aromas for the next probable half-hour!)
For the purpose of temporarily relieving my insatiate desire to raid the pantry for my own lunch I invited my hand to an adjacent Gladware container and grasped a masterfully-concocted almond cookie. If heaven had a taste, that would be it.
And now I still wait. But patience is a virtue that deserves to be practiced. Hence, I will practice.