Barbecue sauce, that is. David-of-the-winsome-grin held up his barbecue sauce packet and said, “Hep, peas.” So I hepped. I took the slimy little packet from his slimy little hand, grasped it tightly and attempted to tear the end. Apparently David had been working on the packet for quite some time — with his teeth. Barbecue sauce oozed out of a gazillion little holes. David laughed gleefully. I went to bathe.