Dylan Strikes Again.

Youngest Hawthorne's name is Dillon. He has a friend named Dylan. Months ago, back in September, when this family was in the midst of a major upheaval kitchenwise, the two Dillons/Dylans were over here. Mr. Hawthorne and I had just bought 50 pounds of shrimp, which we had de-headed and I had sized INto 3 bags - small, medium, and large. Mr. Hawthorne got a big bag of large shrimp and cooked them on a hot plate on the bare floor in our non-existent kitchen. I made a ketchup/horseradish sauce with Lea & Perrins and lemon juice and placed it in the refrigerator which, at the time was at the top of my foyer and front steps going up to the living room. So, stoner Dylan comes in, sees the shrimp platter, asks if he can have some, I say sure, then Mr. Hawthorne comes in and sees this kid, eyes closed, moaning, feeding himself shrimp after shrimp. Dylan left 2 shrimp. Mr. Hawthorne was furious. Mr. Hawthorne ordered me (Heh, thought you would find that funny!) to go down to the freezer, bring up another pound of shrimp, and cook it. So I did. But I got the smallest shrimp I could find. This was not lost on Mr. Hawthorne. He was greatly pissed. SOOOOOO, ZOOOOOM several months forward to today. If you look at the pictures of yesterday's breadsticks, I had FIFTEEN breadsticks last night. Youngest Hawthorne, Mr. Hawthorne, and I had one each. So, that leaves 12. Ok, good with that. Today, Dillon comes over with Dylan, and I hadn't seen Dylan since the shrimp fiasco. "Oh, Ms. Ann, can I have some of those bread sticks?" "Why, sure." BREADSTICKS? GONE!