These are the Daves I know

Last night was the holiday get together for Cas' school. Apparently, there's an annual party at the home of the head of the school. From what I can gather, there are two campuses, one for little kids and one for bigger kids. This guy is the one who oversees all of it. His name is Dave.

The party was overflowing and for about a half hour, it was so noisy that Cas and I had to elevate to near-shouting to communicate. Aside from that, it was a nice time. 

At one point, Cas found himself trying to conversationally differentiate between the Daves present. "That's Dave's (the head of the school Dave's) son." I asked him if he remembered the Kids in the Hall song/sketch, "These are the Daves I know." 

That's how we started down the path that eventually led me to sing (albeit quietly) one of their far less appropriate songs in the living room of the head of a parochial school. What's wrong with me? And why does Cas find it appealing that I am the kind of person who would bust out a chorus of an offensive ditty in a Christian man's living room? 

No matter, though. For whatever reason, we work. Today, we have a lunch at his mom's house with Chad, et. al. before they take Zoey to South Carolina to spend the holidays with her other grandparents. I suppose I shouldn't sing an inappropriate song in his mom's living room. May not be the classy move. 

Here's a look at the very full living room of one of the Daves I now know: