Haven’t Got The Balls To Eat Them

(I am a guy in my early 20s. My mother, her friend, and I get lunch at the restaurant where my roommate works. He is our waiter and comes to take our order.)

Friend: “I can’t remember the word for it, but I’d like the octopus testicles.”

Waiter: “The what?”

Friend: “You know, octopus testicles!”

Waiter: “Um…”

Mom: *laughs*

Me: *poker face*

Friend: “What? You know what I’m talking about. Octopus testicles!”

Waiter: “Uh…”

(This continues on for half a dozen requests for octopus “testicles.” I’m trying, and utterly failing, to contain laughter. My mom is close to busting a rib, and my roommate is silently standing there with an extremely uncomfortable look on his face.)

Mom: *whispers in her friend’s ear*

Friend: *eyes popping out* “Oh! Oh, no!”

Mom: “She wants the calamari.”

(She thought she was saying “tentacles.”)

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