Clarifying Questions

First, let me set the scene.  Last night Phil was next door discussing a project with our neighbor, Sam.  Sam and Mary live there, and they are very nice but not people we click with.  They hold drumming and bonfire parties for almost every solstice and shoot off fireworks that are a delight to our kids. (I know so little of them, that I'm not even sure of the last name.)  Well, tonight I tried to reach Phil about 4:30 pm to lobby for him to pick up a pizza on his way home.  Alas, when your husband is rolling trusses he's not frequent with the phone answering (unless it's the emergency code of wife: you know, two close together calls).

We had nothing in the house for dinner, but when Phil and I finally connected he right away turned around to run one errand for me, and I didn't have the heart to mention a pizza errand too.  However, I lamented, "I'm pathetic, we have nothing to eat for dinner.  I'm *planning* tomato soup and grilled cheese".  Phil loves these foods, and is gracious, and was hungry enough to eat straight Velveeta cheese like product, so he (I'm not kidding) cheerfully replied, "I'll make that as soon as I get home". He could hear Sean wailing in the background, and I'm sure, sense the thin ice in my voice.

Turns out we didn't even have good bread for grilled cheese.  So, after our gourmet cheese quesadillas and tomato soup (can we talk about have psyched the boys were for this meal???), I fed Sean and then gave him bath in his new wash pod (for which he coos his love, and sobs his distress at being separated from), then Phil took him on a little walk about outside.  

As I was later clearing the table, Phil told me about his walk with Sean: "I took him around and we saw Mary.  But I didn't get too close.  Mary smelled Sean's feet, but I pulled him away before she licked them".

WHAT!??

Now, when Sean was super squeaky new people kept telling anybody who would listen to smell his head.  But his feet?  I hadn't heard anyone comment on his sweet feet . . . and I know that Sam and Mary sort of move to the beat of a different drum than we do . . . but . . .

Trying to hide how creeped out I was suddenly feeling, and miraculously managing not to curl my lip as I monotone-ly said, "Sam and Mary, Mary?"

Phil replied: "Mary, our cow".

And, people, that's why you only give your livestock animal-names.