My husband is addicted to puns. In all fairness, I have to say that I love them too, but we like different types of puns. He is likely to go for the quick and dirty, the most obvious, hit them over the head, BAD sort of puns, while I tend to like the long involved stories that need to be read or at least told by a master story teller.
My mother has been living with us for the last fifteen years, and this week, I discovered that DH has swayed her over to the dark side.
We were driving home from an errand, and we saw a sea gull perched upon a light standard. It was so perfectly situated that it looked like it was a statue. As we drove by, Mother turned to me and said “I can’t decide if that was a boy or a gull.”
Ba-dump bump!
What did I do to deserve this??

We live in an interesting area west of Chicago. Fifteen years ago, we built a house at the end of what was a row of “farmettes.” As nearly as I can tell, that means long, deep lots that may have been used to keep horses or farm animals, or perhaps to have small veggie farms. Our land had been purchased in the 1930S by a couple who started a nursery. The remains of the nursery can be seen in the grove behind our house, and the evergreens on our lawn.

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