Why Enunciation Matters

I had lunch with my dear friend Lori yesterday, a great gal about whom I have long said that were it not for just a few niggling little details, i.e., that I’m married, that I am old enough to be her dad and that she is physically repulsed by me, we’d be quite an item, indeed.

We try to get together for lunch every month.  We’ve been doing this for a while, long enough at least that when I phoned yesterday because I was running late thanks to my daughter but that’s another story, she asked me if she should go ahead and order lunch and when I said she should, she didn’t have to ask what I wanted because she knew because as I say, we’ve been doing this a while.

When I did get there—if I didn’t mention it I was a little late because of my daughter (who, by the way could have gotten a ride home with one of her friends instead of making me drive halfway across town, not that I’m annoyed about it or anything)—I discovered to my delight that Lori had baked cookies and, because she’s so nice, had brought me some.  “Yum, yum and woot, woot!”, I say.

So we had our lunch and our laughs. 

I opened with my best material which was this true story:  I had a sex dream about my wife a few days ago.  My wife!  Who does that?  I could understand the dream I’d had involving Christina Applegate a while back (the “Samantha Who?” Christina Applegate not the “Married With Children” Christina Applegate because that, the latter, would just be rong.  She has very nice hair by the way, in case you are curious.)  But my wife?  I thought I was over that.  I mean, we’ve been married 17 years.  I don’t have to dream it.  I can live it.  But anyway…

It was around 3 o’clock, (we had a late lunch because I have a noonish hockey game on Friday’s) and Lori asked what I had going on the rest of the day and I said Jeannie (she’s my wife and the subject of my sick little dreams) would be home around 5 and that we might go to a fish fry and Laura (who had made me a little for lunch did I mention?) had to be driven to a movie and etc. 

Then I said, “Would you like to have a cookie?”  Lori had baked some and brought them to the restaurant for me.

She got a look on her face like I’ve never seen on her face before, ever:  Surprise.  Horror.  Shock.

She said, slowly and seriously and dramatically, What did you say?”

“A cookie,” I said, “Would you like to have a cookie?”

“Oh, my god,” she said.  “I thought you said, ‘Would you like to have a quickie.’”

Whoa hey, now.  So, now I’m the one who is stunned; dumbfounded, really.  And talk about being in a fix.  If you answer “yes”, you’re a creepy old guy who’s willing to cheat on his wife.  But if you say “no”, you might hurt her feelings, and who wants that? 

I handed her a cookie and we both promised to never speak of this again.

“Do you want a quickie?”  Oh. My. God. 

One thing you can count on when it’s lunch with Lori.  There are going to be laughs, lots and lots of laugh. And maybe even cookies.  But no quickies.  Or any other “ies.”  So help me (us) God.