Macaroni convention

We were upstairs changing the sheets on our bed this morning when Scott said, "Oh, by the way, there's a macaroni convention downstairs."

"Macaroni convention," I said.

"Yep."

I thought about this. Apparently I got a semi-disgusted look on my face. "Do you want to explain yourself further?"

"Actually, I'm being quite literal. Beth got into one of the kitchen cupboards."

So I went downstairs and, indeed, there were three (still closed, thank goodness) containers of pasta sitting next to each other in the living room — looking for all the world like three people conversing at a convention. All they needed were name tags: "Hi! I'm Fettuccine."