Our first picnic

The best part about being seven months old is every time I do something, it is my first. On Sunday it was time for my first picnic. After running for 11 miles in the morning, Papa thought it was completely within his rights to eat Dixie Lee. So the entire family (minus Gribouille and Toulouse) sprawled out on a big blanket in the backyard and ate really greasy chicken and fries. Unfortunately I was only allowed to eat my thumb and a few assorted toys but I was able to partake in the picnic festivities in my own way.
A few observations on this whole picnic phenomenon. Why is it that adults who are so concerned about me eating any dog hair or picking up any dirt off the ground and putting it my mouth are so completely enamoured with the concept of eating with their hands on an old blanket and the possibility of ingesting grass with their fried chicken? As well, why is it that Belle, even outside, feels compelled to lick my face everytime I decide to grab her fur?
After scanning the newspaper on Monday morning I'd like to point everyone out to this distressing story. I know Koalas aren't as cute as they look but I'm really torn about this story.
This story is sooooo my parents. Unfortunately Papa isn't a huge barbecuer yet though he keeps promising Maman he will soon become one. But his bizarre love for gadgets is symbolized very well in this column. So the day he becomes a big barbecuer, he will be like Wente's husband. I bet my Tigger bank account on it.