Comments and conversations from the road

Me: Oh my God. Isn’t this July?
Tour Guide: (nodding) Mark Twain said the coldest winter of his life was the summer he spent in San Francisco.
Me: (looking around and shivering) Word. My nipples just fell off.
Tour Guide: (blink, blink, blink) I prefer Twain.

Me: This vacation certainly isn’t the romantic getaway we envisioned.
Husband: Because you stopped plucking your eyebrows and I stopped plucking my ears?
Me: No. It’s because we invited the kids to come along with us.

Oldest: Wow, Mom. Thanks for getting us up at 5am to visit a deserted prison where the scariest men in America were kept and where some of them shot and killed several prison guards. I especially liked the part where three of them made dummy heads before escaping through the wall.
Youngest: Those dummy heads scared the bejesus out of me.
Husband: It’s not a vacation if we don’t have nightmares for at least two months afterwards.
Me: Say it with me: theme parks are for pussies.

Husband: Why aren’t you following the GPS?
Me: That ignorant whore has lied to me about “estimated time of arrival” for the last time.
Husband: That time is based on the route you refuse to follow. Plus you should drive the speed limit.
Me: Why are you always defending her?

Husband: Did you leave your heart in San Francisco?
Me: No. But I did leave two pounds due to questionable Chinese food and “mystery” guacamole.

Me: I went to sleep and it was 57 degrees. Now it’s 108. What happened?
Husband: Oregon. Oregon happened.

Me: What kind of local wine do you serve?
Waitress: We don’t serve alcohol.
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t understand. This is The *Vintage* Cafe, right? Surrounded by Oregon’s finest vineyards?
Waitress: This is a family restaurant.
Me: (snorts) I call bullshit. Most families I know require a full bar.

Tags: dummy heads