Jag tycker synd om den här killen :(

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/mil.millington/things.html

Min favorit (Margret är killens fru):

Gosh, 2002 already - where do the days go, eh? Anyway, I'm sure most of you will have worked out what happened by now, but let's go over it, just for the record. (Also, for the record, Americans, 'tea' is the name of a meal too; it's the one you have somewhere between 4pm and 6pm, OK?) Right. Flashback: We're sitting around the table, eating. Margret spoons another ladleful of mussels out onto her plate. She prises the shell of one open to get at it and then pauses, a bright, fascinated smile taking hold of her face.
'Look,' she says to me, proffering the mollusc, 'Look - it looks just like a clitoris.'
My eyes jerk from the pornographically exposed bivalve up to her beaming expression and back again.
There is a roaring, rushing of wind inside my head.
'What?' asks First Born, trying to crane over the table, 'What does it look like?'
'Never mind, Jonathan,' I say, 'Eat your food.'
'But what does it look like?'
(I briefly think of lying. You know, 'It's a kind of fruit, Jonathan.', say, but the risks are huge. It's screamingly obvious that, a few months on, I'd be in a greengrocer's shop and Jonathan would shout across to me 'Papa! Show me where they keep their clitorises… I want to find out what they taste like.')
'Never mind, Jonathan. Eat your food.'
Margret, now in her own little world, is peering closer into the shell with captivated amusement. She's alternatively poking exploratively and tickling it, rapidly.
I'm telling you, I would absolutely not swap her for any woman on Earth.
Also, I just ate bread for the rest of the meal.

:e