They say laughter helps a person's digestion, so I'm pretty sure the fish and chips I had last Sunday were digested most excellently.
Beloved and I went out for lunch with a group of friends from church. I should have known it was going to be unique because as we all started claiming seats around the long table, all the men sat on one end and all the women sat at the other. [My parallel thinking just kicked in: "Well of course all the men sat on one end. How many ends do you think a man has?"]
Other than that totally unexplainable seating arrangement, the meal was going fine. Conversations were flowing, with one comment leading to another at a comfortable rate.
I mentioned the chandelier in the restaurant's entryway that was made out of beer bottles, which led to telling my tablemates about my son-in-law's home brewing efforts and that he won first place in a couple categories at the state fair. That led to some comments about the highly-specialized variations available in the world of beerosity.
There was then a slight pause in the conversational flow and I filled it with the totally unnecessary, "I have never tasted beer." And that quickly led to the following conversation...
Steve: You've not missed much.
Me: I can't get past the awful smell.
Steve: Now see, I like the smell of beer, but not the taste.
Me: I'm like that with coffee.
Steve: I'm like that with gasoline.
* * * * * * *
At which point, I needed to lift myself off the floor and put my end back in my seat.
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