![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2309/1644/320/pepper2.jpg)
You see, when I went to Toronto in June, Mum took BBA, Hubby, and I to lunch one day at Yorkdale. After we ordered I noticed the pepper grinder on the table and pointed it out to Hubby with an evil grin. He, naturally, gave me a sad and desperate look since he knew what was about to happen.
“You guys want to hear the funniest story about Hubby?” I asked with an innocent smile.
“No.” I paused for a moment thinking I had misheard. How could someone not want to hear my story about how Hubby had… “In fact,” BBA continued, interrupting my internal dialogue. “I don’t ever want to hear it. Because I don’t think that you can keep it to yourself.”
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2309/1644/320/pepper1.jpg)
So, here’s the story or rather, here isn’t the story. For you see, the story of Hubby, the pepper grinder, and how we’ve been expats too long has never been told since the day BBA dared me not to tell it. Being a bratty little sister, I can hardly give in at this juncture, even to share the witty Aesop-esque fable that would have, someday, become the highlight of my memoirs.
Now no one will ever know. Sorry, Devoted Readers, but I’m sure that by know you know I’m nothing if not stubborn. But between you, me, and the entire blogging world: you would have laughed until you cried.
3 comments:
Where's the fun in NOT telling me a story?! GAAAHHHHH!!!
So, what is the story?...can't you even tell your mom??
merthyr
I know the story can I tell?? ;-)
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