The other night, I decided to cruise around the interstates down here with the family. Really, we were going to dinner because I was too lazy to grill hamburgers (you know, flip, sizzle, done...that's a lot of work), but that's beside the point. Or maybe it is the point, but I don't fucking care. We were out driving.
The buxom and comely Boudicca was telling me about her day. 
Remember that she works in a certain book store with an Ampersand in the middle of the name (and no 's' on the end, dumbass) and, well, there are some interesting characters that either work there or shop there. For instance, there's the British guy who fills out the log book by likening the 'action' in the music section to the events of Moby Dick. Apparently, it was pretty boring back there, so he wrote "Dusk. There be no sign of the white whale..." and so on (that's what the ellipses implies). British-style hilarity. Also, for some reason, British Guy likes Notre Dame football. He's invited me and the rest of the familial unit over to his place (is that a flat in British terms?) for a barbecue (barby?), a drink (tipple?), and perhaps some games (jolly good times?) on the day of the Notre Dame/Michigan tilt. I had to politely decline because I plan on either being drunk and naked while running around the front yard with my arms out at the sides making airplane noises or drunk and on the floor crying in the fetal position that afternoon (but still naked).
Sorry, I digress.
Anyway, there we were in the car when Boudicca starts in with her tale for the day. 
Allow me to set the stage. She runs the cash registers, which means that people who feel they're far too important to go to customer service and ask questions come up to the front counter and ask my wife questions. So, there she was as this lady approached and, with a heavy speech impediment, asked: "Dnyou dnyave dnyooks dnyof dnyongue dnyisters?" Yeah, I know. It's like comedy gold. It's like a fat guy asking about books on ballet, just less creepy.
Like a trooper--and with a straight face--Boudicca takes the woman over to the children's section where she might be able to get further help in her quest for a book of tongue twisters. However, when my wife was relating this story to me, she couldn't contain herself and was laughing hysterically at the irony of the situation, which I then pointed out to her was a quick ticket to hell. Unfortunately, I didn't understand what the woman was looking for initially because Boudicca had quoted the woman verbatim, doing her best impression (worst?) of the speech impediment. So, she repeated herself (and the imitation), and this time, through the gales of laughter, I was able to at least comprehend and to get a chuckle out of it myself (thus securing my own ticket to hell).
Finally, we composed ourselves and the laughter ebbed away to a slow trickle. It was at this point that Cookie, from the back seat (remember, this was a family outing) asked loudly, "Mommy, was that lady from Canada?"
Beautiful.
