Intellectual Conversation

In order to stop her from poking me, I've resorted to laying on top of my wife, using my weight to pin her arms to her sides while she wriggles and laughs.

"You're like a baby giraffe," she says, giggling. "With your black tongue and your weird, alien nubs on top of your head."

She pounds me on the back like I'm some sort of horse, shouting, "Your mother was a zookeeper and your father was a giraffe!"