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I'm sitting playing cards with the Lady and her parents. It's getting late and we're back in the Philly suburbs as we're still in between apartments. My head hurts from trying to work out the bidding in bridge and my last can of beer is empty.

I ask the Lady's father if I can have one more.

He looks at me shocked. He slaps his cards down, strolls over to the kitchen and swings open his refridgerater. He comes back and says, "No." I feel that I shouldn't have asked. He looks at me again, "Mr. Brighton. There is no tiny bear in my fridge. Be careful what you say you'll frighten the girls."

"Tiny bear?" I ask bewildered.

"You tell me you want a tiny bear from my fridge - is that what you have in England?"

"I just asked for a...." It dawns on me, "A tin of beer."

That allows the man to trump me (again) good and proper: "Teeny of bear? When are you going to learn American, English boy!"

July 17, 2004 in Diary, The Lady | Permalink


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