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.

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