Yesterday a friend of mine offered to give me some hostas that her parents had brought her. We have a particularly shady backyard and have a hard time getting anything to grow well. Fortunately, hostas seem to like it. After church, Dr. J and I went to retrieve the hostas (because I was too lazy to go and pick them up on Saturday like I said I would and watched hours of Veronica Mars and the Olympics instead).
Returning home with 5 hostas riding in the backseat the conversation went something like this:
Dr J: So what are we going to do with the hostages?
Me: [bursting fit of laughter]
Dr J: Fine, alright, how do you pronounce it?
Me: Hossssss-tas. I think we outta tie em up, blindfoldem and put em in the garage.
Dr J: It must be my Colombian nature
Hostas crying in high pitched squeals from the back: Let us go! You have no right to keep us here! You'll be sorry!!
Beach
6 years ago
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3 comments:
that is a great story.
-Jerry
LOL
This is one of the greatest stories ever besides Dr. J's pronunciation of Bojangles.
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