John slept a couple of hours after his marathon drive to pick up grandson David. I suspect David’s eyelids drooped a bit, too. By evening they were visibly tired, although still in party spirits. Perhaps we were all three slap-happy, because we laughed at silly things. This one I remembered. David asked John to pass the crackers, and John wanted to know which of the five types he preferred.
David answered, “Club or Ritz.”
That doesn’t look peculiar on paper, but you should have heard the way it came out. David’s brisk northeast accent ran the sounds together, making it sound like an Eastern European surname.
Cluboritz. Cluboritz. Is Cluboritz here?
Though unmerited, it brought on gales of laughter.