It was bound to happen, what with all of the hours practicing with the band and the long bus rides to competitions. Co-pilot Egg has got herself a boyfriend. He's a percussionist in the band. Quiet lad, though; it's hard work to get a word out of him. You could count the number of words that he has uttered in my presence on your thumbs. So, it was dinner with the family tonight, and with the boyfriend along as a guest. There wasn't much by way of dinner conversation, so the Co-owner seized upon the opportunity to convey some marching orders, primarily with regards to the dress code for the lunch that they have scheduled with Egg's grandparents on Friday. Jeans are OK, but they have to be 'nice' jeans. Egg seemed unclear on the topic of what exactly constitutes 'nice' jeans, so I volunteered that jeans with holes in the knees would not meet the standard. A poignant look from Egg prompted the BF to reply:
"I don't have any jeans with holes in them."
Loath as I was to respond in anything but a friendly, respectful manner to what was by far the longest series of words that I had ever heard him string together, but I couldn't help myself. I'm weak, damn it! Weak!!
I said, "Well how do you get your legs in?"
Dead silence from him, and barely stifled guffaws from the ladies, both of whom had fervently hoped that I wouldn't embarrass the lad. Sorely disappointed, they were, but not at all surprised that I had.
Trying to settle things down, the Co-owner shared with him that "he had really stepped into that one!"
Ok, I simply lost it over her unintended continuance of the joke. I admit it. And I only made things worse when I suggested that to avoid further damage, she "should just zip it."
I'm not sure, but I think he broke a smile at that one.