"There is somebody here," yelled my sweet Sven. I came out of my writing room to investigate. "It's just Amazon." I spotted the box the driver left on the porch. "I wonder what that is," I said. "You don't know what you ordered?" "Well, I ordered a grill," I said. "But." Sven came down the stairs. I carried the box inside. "This can't be it. It's too small." "What else did you order?" "I don't know." That is when I realized that I needed to join a buyers' anonymous support group. I had absolutely no recollection of what I had dropped into my shopping cart last. Sven turned on the golf channel and sat down. I found the box cutter and slid it inside the groove in the tape and removed a second box from within. "So, what is it?" he said without turning his head. "An even smaller box." It weighed nothing. I shook it. It rattled. Sven came over to watch as I slid the blade into the groove in the tape of the second box. "Well?" he said. I removed plastic wrap from around the parts and said, "It's the grill I ordered." "Millie, you have got to stop buying stuff online." "But." "Didn't you even read the dimensions? What is this? Four by six inches?" "I don't think it's that big." "How much did you pay for that?" "It was only thirty dollars. I guess I should have ordered the ninety dollar one." "Maybe you should just stop ordering." "Look how cute it is!" I said after assembly was complete. He shook his head, gave the coals a squirt of lighter fluid and lit it. I poked potatoes that were baking in the oven, turned on a burner for the asparagus to steam and joined him on the back deck with a glass of wine. "You need to put more charcoal in there." There were only six pieces in it. "That should be enough," he said. The thing about Sven is he is not a griller. Because he cannot part with his charcoal. And his frugality is relative to the size of the grill. "I think you need to add more," I said. "Fine," he grumbled and reached for the bag. "Maybe you should just do it." I went inside to turn the asparagus down and returned with another glass of wine, my favorite part of grilling. "I think it's hot enough," he said a little later and plopped two steaks onto it. They began to sizzle. "It works!" I exclaimed. When he flipped them over, we realized that all sizzling had ceased. "It's a good thing we like them on the rare side." Later I emptied the coals so that I could stick the new purchase into the dishwasher. That is when I noticed that Sven had only added one more piece of charcoal to his original pile of six. "Oh, for the love of God!" The second time we used our mighty tiny grill; I supervised. "More," I said. "This is enough." "More," I said. "Let them go, Sven. I will buy you another bag." Every time Sven stepped away, I gave those coals another blast of lighter fluid and watched the flames dance. Our dinner was sizzling like mad when I received a text from my sister. "Hey. What's up?" I sent Louisa a picture of our soon to be cuisine. "Wow!" she says. "Those steaks are huge!" "Not even a pound between them," I wrote back. While it is true that my accidental purchase of the world's tiniest grill was originally an error, I suggest that you order one while supplies last. (BYOG) As in, bring your own grill parties are popping up everywhere. It is all the rage. You simply line your guests' sweet little thirty-dollar deals, down the center of your picnic table in a row and supply the charcoal. Be sure to get the big bag, Edna. They say this could be an even crazier fad than those fondue parties our swinging hip parents used to throw. Happy grilling this summer.