Creating Mischief

The other day, My Honey and I were driving across town.  We chose a route that would hopefully have the least amount of Christmas traffic.  This route took us up into the foothills and to some of the ritzier houses in our town.  We saw several open house signs and we debated whether we wanted to stop off and look at the houses.  We figured we’d at least get a cookie or something.

“I think our disco ball will fit nicely in the formal dining room, don’t you?” I’d ask My Honey in earshot of the agent.

“But I think we’re going to have a problem retro fitting that trapeze and the stripper pole with these 20 foot ceilings,” My Honey would say, picking his teeth with the corner of a credit card.

“You know, dear, I just don’t think that 5400 square feet is going to be enough room.” I would say in my haughtiest Thurston Howell III voice.

“Yeah,” My Honey would say, scratching his belly, “Where will we keep Cousin Cletus and the goats?”