He: “Hey, this is good stuff. What is it?”
She: “It’s hummus.”
He: “No, love, speak boldly. I can’t understand you when you hum. What is this stuff?”
She: “I told you. Hummus!”
He: “Sweetheart, I’m overjoyed that you want to join me in the choir. But the rehearsal’s not ’til Saturday, and none of the music calls for humming. Which will disappoint you, on present evidence. And in the meantime, I’d really like to know what I’m eating here. Or are you trying to not tell me something?”
She: “I’m trying not to tell you that you’re eating mashed garbanzo beans!”
He: “Oh. A purée of the legume Cicer arietinum. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
She: “Why did I have to take up with a botanist?”
He: “To inspire you to write about strawberries, of course. But I gotta ask you.”
He: “How come we’ve only ever heard of chickpeas? Aren’t there any dude peas?”
“Peace, dude. You called me?”
He [whispers]: “Pipe down, dude!”
“Gnarly, dude. Got a light?”
She: “La-la-la-la, I can’t hear you …!”
– O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.
What a difference to the conversations in *our* house. On the one occasion I brought home hummus, I had to endure vomit references and ethnic jokes for a week.
So can I steal your chick/dude peas insight for Flash 55 this week? I’m dry.
Sure, Susan. On the condition that you do not ask your readers to visualize whirled peas.
haha! I did a post on homemade hummus once. Even posted photos. No, don’t go there! The stuff looked like vomit…
Gigi, as you probably know, they used to serve beer in stone- or metalware because you really, really didn’t wish to see what you were drinking. Maybe the hummus vendors should take a hint …
Well, hon, you won’t have to face the music when you get home. I ate the rest of the hummus for lunch, along with a few crackers and a nice salad.
Well, Q, that makes me glad that garbanzos are reputed to be far less, um, musical than most other types of bean …
No recipe in the world stretches like one of your puns, OC. While we’re revealing, my ex was (is) deathly allergic to chick peas. I did without for 8 years.
Doug — your last sentence … no never mind. I’m not going there.
Dawg, I only wish I could stretch some of them over the bills. But I don’t have enough control over them to make them work for us. They just happun.
Similar situation. Different food item. I sympathize.
So are you suggesting that I should consume beer with my hummus?
And I made a tie-dye shirt many years ago and added the words, “Visualize Whirled Peas.” It was a red shirt, just to mess with minds.
It will make you a fine piano player, Karen. On a Steinway. Speaking of messing with minds … 😉