Last night on the way home from dinner my dad was telling us about a hitch-hiker that he gave a ride (Who picks up hitch-hikers anymore? Oh yeah, my dad):
My Dad: "The kid was dressed really nicely for a dishwasher. I think he was gay."
Margaret: "You mean he was happy?"
My Dad: *without skipping a beat* "Yep. Happy." And he continued on with his story.
If she knew that gay meant happy, why did she ask for clarification?
She's so like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment