"Mark?"
"Yes, Yolanda...what is it now?"
"Tell me, please, just one more time."
"You mean..."
"Uh Huh...about how we're not sausages...we're hot dogs."
"Oh, honey..of course we're hot dogs. My father was a hot dog...your father was a hot dog...just because your uncle was a sausage doesn't mean..."
"...but sometimes I feel like I ought to be with...you know..eggs and hashbrowns instead of on a bun at a picnic..."
"Well, stop it, Yo! Just stop that, m'kay? You are a pure, unadulterated, majestic Hot Dog, and nobody can take that away."
"Mark?"
"Yes?"
"Was your mom a hot dog?"
"You know darn well she was."
"I never told you, but...my mom...was part polish..."
"You're kidding."
"I kid you not, Mark."
"Well, then.....I mean...gosh, Yolanda...I guess that makes you...sort of a...hybrid."
"Yeah, sorta-kinda, huh?"
"But you're still a hot dog to me, babe."
"I love you, Mark"
"Hey...whadda ya say we go find us a nice steamed bun and some sweet pickle relish..."
"That would be nice...and maybe some onion?"
"Now your talkin', babe."
"Mark?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks..."
Wednesday
~ A Small Identity Crisis ~
4 comments:
i love your stories
P.S. I think its just my Google/Blogger Identity that the Comment Gods have a problem with - so henceforth I shan't be using it (a bummer of sorts, but for now...)
ha Ha HA !!! there's more than one way to outsmart the ooompa loompas.
Hot diggity sausage at the ball park.
If I stuck a hot dog in my eye would that make the day go away?
And exactly what is wrong with a sausage???
We should be inclusive of all!
hehehehehehe
Post a Comment