Burns Supper (25/365g)

just woke up from a dream where I arrived late to tonight's burns supper.
Steph lives on the bottom floor of a triple-decker in Worcester MA, by the way.
And everyone was waiting for me when I arrived. It was 17:06, which was egregiously too late. "Leave your coat on we're just going to start right now"

Happy Burns' Day sounds funnier than Happy Burns' Night.

We made vegetarian Haggis, which was entertaining enough after I found the Mace. A spice I bought just for this which I then misplaced by leaving it in my room for no particular reason. 

Felix was working on his (stupid, stupid) bird house, an assignment for school which had him using a terrible online software which is way overqualified for what he had to make. He kept getting frustrated by it. Eventually right before I left I got him to just start over, for whatever that is worth, because the software was so buggy it was impossible to tell where the mistakes were that he made and where the mistakes were that the software made.

Burns night was awesomely fun, lots of singing and poetry.

I responded to the lassies toast with my own laddies toast (a word that is often autocorrected to "ladies")

His Toast to the Lassies

Here’s to the lassies that reign 'long the Mur,
Like pumpkin seed oil—rich an’ bold;
A wee bit thick, aye canny to pour,
But worth their weight in green-black gold.

The finest drap’ll no spoil the broth,
But tells yer fortune, guid or ill;
Choose weel the lass ye gie yer hand,
For ane can warm—or break—yer will.

They deepen flavour the langer they bide,
They’ll ruin yer sark an’ rule yer plate—
Yet life would taste but thin an’ pale
Without their strength, their fire, their fate.

So rise yer glass, accept the toil—
To a’ the lassies: rich as pumpkin seed oil!

My Toast to the Laddies

Dear laddies all hail,
Give me a wee little hark
We rich and bold lassies
Have a fierce little bark


When you lads come to greet us
You'll take notice askance
While you dressed the salad
We prepped for the dance

you likened the lassies to styrian oil
essential to plate and perfecting the palate
and since all ye lads be our eternal foils
you must be like vinegar: sharp, bitter and sour.

All laddies start life with a sweetness as pure
As sun-ripened apples, luscious and firm
Then time plays a trick: you ferment and cure
your sugar is changed into acetic acid

when tartness tickles the tip of my tongue
The reaction is instant: my face puckers up
Same when manly heroics are braggardly sung
"Heh - heh - look at us" makes my nose wrinkle up

So hail to the laddies: hope the best for time's test
And let oil and vinegar mix well for our fest!

When I got home I stayed up till almost 11 helping Felix finish his school-work.