The Lovely One and her father share a taste for low jokes.
So she has a long filial phone call Sunday and on termination tells the kids that Grandpa has a new joke.
“Which room,” she says, “does the horse ask for at the hotel?”
“Uh, the stable?” says I. I use plodding dullness to dampen things when someone else is trying to be funny. But I can quit whenever I want, honest.
No one else knows, so she asks the oldest, “what do you call a girl who just got married and is staying at a hotel for her honeymoon?” “A bride?” says the oldest. “And what horse thing does ‘bride’ sound like?” Our oldest convulses. “A bridal room,” she gasps out. “You put the horse in the bridal room.” Ha ha ha.
“Pretty much,” says the wife, “except that a fance name for room is suite. So you put the horse in the bridal suite.”
“Sweet?” says the youngest girl. “I’m sweet. I’m bridal sweet.”
The middlest girl, five years old, has been tunelessly humming. She now speaks up with authority. “Where you put the horse is the hoss-tel.” I quietly shelve the little joke I just thought of that lunar bees go in the honeymoon suite; it couldn’t compare.
Circumstances compel me to admit that my girls are way more awesome than yours.