We were catching up with some friends for a chat. Being a gracious host, I offered them a drink. She wanted coffee and he wanted tea.
While the teabag was steeping in the cup, I asked, “Are you a two-, three- or four-minute man?”
I’ve no idea why his wife was laughing so hard.
This is an old story my dad loves to tell. He has an old friend who is a bit of a picky eater. One night, my dad is making burgers. His friend brought his own cheese to put on the burgers — specifically, American cheese slices, which my dad personally finds to be an affront to the wonder that is cheese.
My dad looks at him in disbelief and tells him, “Dude, that’s not real cheese.” His friend vehemently disagrees, so my dad says, “I’ll prove it. [Dog] likes cheese. C’mere, girl,” and throws a full slice of the cheese on the floor for our dog.
It’s true, our dog loves cheese — she loves any and all human food and we frequently let her lick our dishes after meals — so she is well-acquainted with various cheeses.
Anyway, she trots over, sniffs the slice on the kitchen floor, and turns her nose away and trots back off into another room, entirely uninterested.
To this day, his friend insists that my dad gave her some secret signal to leave the treat on the floor. Our dog was a bit of a wild one when she was a pup, but at this point, we had gotten through to her and she was excellently behaved… but there was no signal on earth that would stop her from taking good food that was placed on the floor, which was considered her domain.
(My husband and I are visiting our very good friends and messing with each other. My friend has been complaining that her husband has been annoying her all day. I am sitting near her husband with their baby in between us. My friend is speaking about a familial situation and mentions a name.)
Friend: “Ray-mon.”
Me: “Raymon?”
Friend: “Raymon.”
Me: *so confused* “Raymond or Raymon?”
Friend: “Yes.”
Me: “…” *looks at her husband*
Friend’s Husband: *spells it* “R-A-Y-M-O-N-D.”
Me: “Oh, Raymond! You keep saying Raymon!”
Friend: “Yeah, Raymon!”
(I just stare at her at his point, confused beyond belief, and she and her husband begin to bicker about it.)
Me: “Look, you keep saying Raymon, not Raymond! You are leaving off the D!”
Friend’s Husband: “Yeah, she’s saving it for later!”
(Everything dissolved. I took the baby out of the way as my friend screeched at me to flee and proceeded to launch herself at her husband while he and I hysterically laughed.)
(My father’s friend is hosting a Christmas dinner at their place. As the adults start drinking in the dining room, most of the kids all run up to the TV, but I decide to accompany our host’s younger son, who is around nine. He takes me to his room and wants to play.)
Son: “Let’s fight!”
(He takes out a drawer filled with toy weapons.)
Me: “Sure, but I’ll just use this.”
(I pull out my younger brother’s toy lightsaber.)
Son: “Okay, but you’re gonna lose.”
(He equips a Nerf gun and his own toy lightsaber. We stand at opposite sides of the room.)
Son: “Go!”
(He then fires his Nerf gun at me, but I block the bullet with my lightsaber, stride forward, and knock both of his weapons aside with the lightsaber before tapping him lightly on the neck)
Me: “You’ve been decapitated.”
Son: “What? How did you do that?
Me: “The people in my fencing class can stab faster than a Nerf bullet.”
Son: “Cool! You’re a Jedi!”
Me: *deepens voice* “May the Force be with you, youngling.”
(I was telling the truth; my fencing classmates are fast. But I was actually watching the barrel of his gun and angling my lightsaber to be directly in front of it. Don’t tell him that, though. I have the reputation of a Jedi to maintain.)
(I’m sitting with one of my friends during dinner. The conversation rolls around to her sister, with whom my friend is in the middle of a — several years long by now — prank war.)
Friend: “So, I need ideas on how to pay back that little b****. Got anything?”
Me: “You mentioned that your house had a suit of armour, right?”
Friend: “Yeah, that piece of junk my dad found in a thrift store.”
Me: “How about you put on that suit of armour, wait until your sister wakes up in the morning, and then jumpscare her.”
Friend: *homicidal joker grin on face* “Ooh, I like the sound of that. Problem: I’m not sure it’s even wearable. And it’s covered with dust and cobwebs.”
Me: “Can you try to get your father to put it on? Say that you’re curious if it can actually be worn and talk him around into wearing it. That way you can both confirm if it can be worn and how to put it on.”
Friend: “Oh, that’s a good idea. Two birds with one stone.”
Me: “Better, I imagine that your father would not want to wear something that is filled with spiders, so he’ll probably clean it first, which means that you won’t have to wear a dusty old suit.”
Friend: *excitedly* “And I can video him doing it. If he gets stuck inside it’ll be a big hit on [Video Site]! Five birds with one stone. Man, you’re a genius.”
Me: “I prefer ‘devious mastermind,’ but anyway, that still leaves the million-dollar question: will your father wear the suit of armour?”
Friend: “Yeah, I can convince him to do that. He’s quite the nut job. Once, my uncle and I managed to convince him into dancing naked on the abandoned railway bridge near our farm.”
Me: *OMGWTF face* “What?”
Friend: “Yeah, a rain dance to piss off the sky. We videoed it. Getting him to put a suit of armour on will be easy. Oh, I can’t wait for the weekend. This is going to be so fun!”
Me: “Show me the video of your dad in the armour at some point. And good luck with the prank.”
