(My family of two younger sisters, our father, and I, have just sat down to dinner.)
Dad: “Hey, can you pass the couscous?”
Me: “You know, if this were made with a large waterfowl, it would be called goose-cous.”
Dad: “Or if it were liquid, it could be juice-cous.”
Me: “Or if it was made with coniferous trees, it would be spruce-cous.”
Dad: “In Canada, they’d have moose-cous.”
(By now both little sisters are rolling their eyes, but we keep going.)
Me: “Trains could have caboose-cous.”
Dad: “Batman has Bruce-cous.”
Me: “If you ate it while tied at tennis it would be deuce-cous.”
Dad: “If you hung it from a rope it would be noose-cous.”
Me: “If you added cocaine, you could call it substance abuse-cous.”
Dad: “If you put it in a channel that conducts water, it would be sluice-cous.”
Me: “The Greek gods had Zeus-cous!”
Dad: “Theodor Geisel eats Seuss-cous!”
Little Sister: “You guys have a few screws loose.”