Wordsmith

David came home from school for the weekend. He told me that he, his girlfriend Amanda, and another couple had plans to go to a pumpkin farm. “What will you do there?” I asked. “Look for bananas,” he answered dryly.

Jack, (originator of verbal twists such as “kitchen quesadillas” and “The Nodules of Nottingham,” a.k.a. “The Chronicles of Narnia”) was halfway under the sink working on the pipe that the counter installers broke off at the wall. He poked his head out and asked, “So you’re going to the Function Farm?”

David and I exchanged a glance. “You’re revealing your Martianality again. Remember, you’re not supposed to talk about those things with Earthlings,” I said.

“Dad, what the heck is a Function Farm?” David asked.

“Well at least I didn’t say the Dysfunction Farm,” the Martian attempted as a cover-up.

“No, that would be this house,” replied David.

I picked up a newly arrived catalog with a robot on the cover. “Here’s one of Dad’s friends from the Function Farm.”

“Oh boy, you guys aren’t going to let me forget that one, are you?” said Jack.

“Not as long as we’re standing here in the chicken,” David replied.

No wonder the poor man travels so often.