He: “So how are you feeling, love?”
She: “Stuffed. Overstuffed!”
He: “Hm, ok. I promise not to sit on you.”
She: “Good. You wouldn’t like any of the kinds of ‘throw’ you’d get from me if you tried that.”
He: “Right. But I guess you liked your dinner.”
She: “Um, yes. You could say it was edible.”
He: “I could, I suppose. But I’ve gotta know something.”
She: “Ye – esss?”
He: “Who’s Ed?”
She: “[…] whut?”
He: “I wish to know who Ed is. And why Ed? Why not George, or Wally, or Murgatroyd, or Esmerelda? What’s Ed got that these folk ain’t got? Or that I ain’t got?? What’s so magical about Ed that makes it certain that what’s good for Ed is good for the rest of us? Is good for me! And for you!”
She: “I’m sorry, love. I thought you knew.”
He: “Knew what?”
She: “Ed is a bull!“
He: “Really? I thought he was a horse.”
She: “Would I steer you wrong?”
He: “You mean, like when you’re horsing around?”
She: “Like, when I’m being bullish about you, my love. You’re so … so …”
He: “Aw …”
She: “Incorrigible!!”
Mustanging around as usual. You might ask why the world’s your oyster rather than worrying about Ed’s ibles. Heifer the people in the world don’t care about this beef you’ve got going on.