That’s Not A Raisin In The Rum And Raisin

(My brother and I are eating ice cream. My mum, sitting out enjoying the sun with us, sees a large fly on the table, and squishes it with a fork. Dad emerges from the caravan.)

Dad: “Ooh, ice cream! Mine!”

(Dad grabs the fly-splattered fork, and goes for my brother’s bowl.)

Brother: “Don’t!”

Me: “It’s all—”

Mum: “Nooo!”

(We’re too late. He manages to get a scoop and eats it. He grins at us, and then sees our faces.)

Dad: “What?”

Mum: “There was a fly on that.”

Dad: “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?” *pauses* “Well that explains the taste.”