Write about: the dinner party.
Sorry, Greg, that's the best I could do. I've already used potluck as a prompt. Way back in the days when haiku did not yet rule Tuesdays, but still.
An upset stomach kept me out of the garden today, but seems to have knocked it off now. So hopefully it won't decide to return in order to screw with tomorrow's box harvest.
Michael, as always, brought his favorite dish. No one was quite sure what it was, only that it smelled unpleasantly of fish. If you're taking a bite, I'd suggest making a wish.
Dave walked through the door with a plate in each hand. Which, at first, sounds quite grand. Until you realize that one offering is beyond bland and the other is covered with sand.
Terry arrived in style, wearing his usual gap-toothed smile. The best I can say for his food is that only sometimes it tastes like bile. The rest of the time... there are no words, it's just too vile.
My contribution to the party, you ask? Ah, it's about time - I've been waiting to bask! It's the one over there, in the metal flask. Oh, but before you go try a sample... you should probably put on this gas mask.