Sometimes when I visit my parents they indulge me by joining me in watching gymnastics on TV. And by sometimes, I mean the Venn Diagram intersection of “when I visit my parents” and “when gymnastics is on TV.”
During the men’s Olympic Trials (parents will remain anonymous so they have only a 50% chance of bashfulness):
On the men’s outfits: “Are those like footed pajamas?
On the men’s arm muscles, and social media:
Parent A: “It looks like a sausage that’s been tied off at two ends!”
Parent B: “You should twitter that.”
Parent A: “I wouldn’t say that in a tweet. Sausage could be taken the wrong way.”
Parent A: …If I had a twitter, I would never tweet anything cruel. Unless it was anonymous.”
On the gymnast who has “London 2012” tattooed on his arm as a cruel reminder that he was the alternate for that Olympics: “But he didn’t actually make the team? He should have only gotten half a tattoo then.”
***
Me, to teenaged student: “This should read ‘we went out to dinner and drank sodas,’ not ‘we went out to dinner and drank a soda’–unless you really did go out to dinner with five of your friends and drink out of one coke with five straws, which would be sort of charming.”
Student: “Hmm.”
Student: “I’ve heard of marriages that involve more than two people?”
Me: —
Me: “Okay, or that!”
***
Man on the street to his companion: “If you eat like a horse, that must mean you’re a sandtard!”
Companion: “Sandtard?”
Man: “You know. One of those half horse, half human things.”
Companion: —
Man: “Center? Saunter?”
Companion: —
Man: —
Companion: “Centaur?”
Man passing me on the street, to his friend: “Redhead.”
That man has a future in ornithology or some branch of identification and classification, I’m sure.
