On my last visit out-of-state to see my sons, we spent a day at a friend’s large ranch. On the way back from the horse barn, I listened to my sons chat about the next adventure on the day’s schedule — target shooting.
“Are you going to shoot, Mom,” the first son asked.
The second son didn’t hear the comma. “What d’ya mean,” he asked, “am I going to shoot Mom?”
This weekend I sent the reporter to the market and buy some ice cream for a family dinner. “What flavor?” he asked.
My only instruction — “Anything but peanut butter or nuts.” The Bug is allergic to peanuts, and everyone else claims to dislike nuts in something inherently soft. Could go back to our family fear of surprises.
After the Couponman’s arrival home, I asked what flavor he got. “I got a deal on a hand packed quart,” he reported. “I got half chocolate and half peanut butter.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” I asked in my what-planet-are-you-from tone, “I told you to buy anything but peanuts.”
“Yes, I heard you,” he confessed. “But I didn’t think it really had any peanut butter in it.”
“No, of course not,” I thought. Why would they sneak peanuts in something called peanut butter? The voices in my head were too dumbfounded to speak out loud.
This morning he thought I’d forgiven him. He asked for eggs. I placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. “I said I wanted eggs for breakfast.”
“Oh,” I said, “I just thought you meant something with eggs in them.”
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Perfect! Describes just about every man I know!
Hehehe! Nice story Penny! : )
Sweet revenge!
In answer to your original question . . . Only for so long. Make note of that. Pass it on.
