Our teacher asked us what our favorite animal was, and I said, “Fried chicken.”
She said I wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t have been right, because everyone else in the class laughed.
My parents told me to always be truthful and honest, and I am. Fried chicken is my favorite animal. I told my dad what happened, and he said my teacher was probably a member of PETA. He said they love animals very much.
I do, too. Especially chicken, pork and beef. Anyway, my teacher sent me to the principal’s office. I told him what happened, and he laughed, too. Then he told me not to do it again.
The next day in class my teacher asked me what my favorite live animal was. I told her it was chicken. She asked me why, just like she’d asked the other children. So I told her it was because you could make them into fried chicken.
She sent me back to the principal’s office again. He laughed, and told me not to do it again. I don’t understand. My parents taught me to be honest, but my teacher doesn’t like it when I am.
Today, my teacher asked us to tell her what famous person we admire most.
I told her, “Colonel Sanders.”
The principal is making me write this, even though he laughed again.
The secret of enjoying a good wine is to open the bottle to allow it to breathe. If it doesn’t look like it’s breathing, give it mouth-to-mouth.
Heavy snow had buried my van in our driveway. My husband, Scott, dug around the wheels, rocked the van back and forth and finally pushed me free.
I was on the road when I heard an odd noise. I got on my cell and called home. “Thank God you answered,” I said when Scott picked up. “There’s this alarming sound coming under the van. For a minute I thought I was dragging you down the highway.”
“And you didn’t stop?