ONE OF THE THINGS I DO that most irritates my wife is when I talk to strangers. Usually I'm trying to be humorous but they often either don't get it or don't find it funny. I know that the general rule is not to speak to people you don't know but sometimes I just can't resist.
Checking out of a grocery store, I couldn't help but notice the cashier's name tag: LYDIA.
"Are you the Lydia with all the tattoos?" I asked her.
My peripheral vision was sufficient to pick up my wife's annoyed glare.
"What?" Her expression was perplexed, expectant.
"Have you ever heard Groucho Marx sing about Lydia the tattooed lady?"
"Don't sing it," my wife spat emphatically.
Then, finally out of the store and on the way to the truck: "I can't take you anywhere."
Of course, I whistled a few bars as we unloaded the grocery cart, a cart that had one wheel which was not turning well. We had driven an hour to get to the store. I've concluded that the further you have to drive to get to the grocery store, the more likely it is you'll get a defective grocery cart.
"Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia? Lydia the tattooed ladeeee!"
"Just shut up and drive."