Getting Along Swimmingly
He and She were dining at home (She done good, as usual) …
She: “Are you finished?”
He: “I suppose.”
She: “Then may I …”
He: “Though I don’t think my family has any Northern European ancestry.”
She: “Northern European what?”
He: “In fact, I’m sure it doesn’t.”
She: “Well, dear, your name does tell of soggy green islands …”
He: “No, that’s not it.”
She: “What is, then?”
He: “No gills.”
She: “No … gills …”
He: “I mean, Finland is kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
She: “Who are you calling a …”
He: “But think about it a minute. Where would you find a fin land? Wouldn’t that be, like, the ocean?”
She: “Babe, maybe you’d better work on getting a set of those gills. Or at least a SCUBA suit.”
He: “For why?”
She: “Because you’re getting in way deep, and you’re going to need them. I don’t suppose it would do me any good to tell you to go to …”
He: “Helsinki? Speaking of ‘way deep’.”
She: “I thought not.”
9 Comments
This post needs tartar sauce!
What? It’s not tart enough?
Love, it’s starting to flounder & it’s way too fishy!
It is well seasoned.
I kind of worried your conversations might go like that.
To Helsinki? In a handbasket?
Peppered with silliness!
Oi with the poodles already!
dining at home can take you strange places
Comments are closed.