He's a fungi to be with.

So, this morning, the pets decided they would like an early morning swim. Meaning, actually, that Maxwell saw a sliver of opportunity while RJ was bringing out the trash and made the mad dash out of doors, bringing Margaret frantically running after him, and RJ trailing after them. Which worked out okay for me, because there was no chance I was going to be ready when RJ wanted to leave, anyhow. Thanks, Max.

So after the pets were safely (and sorrowfully) back downstairs and RJ got done huffing and puffing from the chase, he was like, puffballs! They're everywhere right now! And no, he was not talking about all the plush lining that's been accumulating downstairs from Maxwell slowly demolishing the sofa cover I only bought a week ago.

He was talking about mushrooms.

Due to some weird alignment of nature, Chaumont is practically bursting with puffballs. 

This is not RJ. I would never let him out of the house with that shirt and those pants, I promise. He is also not married.

Meaning: lots and lots of earthy, delicious mushrooms....that we are going to cook tonight. I've never had an opportunity to try them before (they grow in the wild and pop up only briefly) but apparently they are really good simply cooked in butter. But any plain Jane can do that. RJ has decided that making a puffball pizza is more his style. So we (he) are (is) planning on cutting these guys sideways and using the middle slices as pizza and then the rest as toppings.

Good thing we like mushrooms.