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Paddy was an Irishman
Naomi was a Jew
Paddy popped the question
Such a cry and hue.
The rabbi wouldn’t marry them
Neither would the priest
Written in the Good Book
Not the twain shall meet.
Paddy was an Irishman
Naomi was a Jew
A Vegas judge did wed them
But kids were all too few.
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The priest said, ‘tis the devil
The rabbi said, not true
The doc. said, ‘tis the shorts
The nethers turning blue.
Paddy was an Irishman
Naomi was a Jew
Paddy shed the shorts
The kids came two by two.
The moral to this story, girls
When a Catholic marries a Jew
Check the shorts the groom would wear
Before you say, "I do."
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Check me out
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It's all in the Word
You can say what you like, American English is not English English. If you doubt me, suggest to an American woman that you’ll nurse her squalling baby and you‘ll learn soon enough that you have offered, not merely to bounce the babe on your knee, but to wet nurse it. And don’t blow coffee over everyone if, after a hearty meal, the same woman tells you that she’s stuffed, because she won’t mean that she‘s been fornicating, only that she couldn’t eat another crumb if she tried.
Then there’s the restaurant. The word, entree, it means the first course--right? Wrong. In the US, and only in the US as far as I can ascertain, it means the main course--as if the meals weren’t large enough already.
So now you’re waiting for your entree. They keep filling your coffee cup. You’re desperate to go. You ask directions. “Toilet...? Oh... you mean the bathroom.” You visualize a customer availing himself of the urinal for bathing. You find the bathroom. Only the door is labeled Rest Room, which is equally perplexing, because, when you enter, the only resting convenience is a seat with a hole in its center. (Center, not centre, note.)
Which is an appropriate time to relate an incident that happened to my family. The year was 1961. We were migrating from New Zealand to the United States. Our transport was the British P. and O. Line’s Oriana, the then largest civilian liner ever to sail the Pacific. The ship was luxurious; the food anything but, and every meal came served with chips, even breakfast. Ashore for a day in Honolulu, we eagerly sought out a restaurant. The children scanned the menu. “Mmmm--BLT. I wonder what‘s a BLT.” “Mmmm--Denver sandwich. I wonder what’s a Denver sandwich.” “Mmmm--French fries! I wonder what are French fries.” They ordered French fries, and, of course, the French fries were chips. Interesting enough, had we been in a fish restaurant, the fish and chips would have been listed on the menu as fish and chips.
Now a poser: French fries originated in France--right? Wrong. In France they are chips.
Still on the subject of food, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in America is not the quivering mess you’re no doubt visualizing, but a redolent olio of peanut butter and jam. (Don't knock it--we have Marmite.) Jelly, for the record, is called jello.
Over easy is a lightly cooked egg that’s turned over midway through the cooking process.
Sunnyside up is the egg cooked in the usual manner.
Ask for a rasher of bacon and no one will know what you are talking about. Ask for a slice.
Ask for a scone and get a blank look. Rhyme scone with stone and you'll be served a biscuit. Ask for a biscuit and you'll be brought a cookie--but you’ll have gotten (not got) the point, and without us leaving the restaurant.
But one last thing--nothing to do with food--don’t offer to knock an American woman up at seven in the morning, or at any time for that matter, unless down the road you’re prepared to pay her child support. Lend her an alarm clock.
end
And Now For the Pub Crawl.
• Heard in the Waiwera Pub: Beauty is in the eyes of the beerholder.
• A man walked into an Auckland bar with a parrot on his shoulder. "Gee," said the bartender, "that's some animal. Where'd you get him?"
"Australia," said the parrot. "They're two a penny over there."
• Question: "Have you lived in New Zealand all your life?"
Answer: "Not yet."
• Heard in the Pahia RSA Club: You don't know him? Hell... he's as famous as the unknown soldier.
• To an American ear, New Zealanders pronounce their a's like i's. Which caused one American to remark, "In America a bison is a buffalo. In New Zealand a bison is a thing a New Zealander washes his fice in."
• An oxymoran: Kiwi Airlines. And there is such an airline, in Florida, USA.
•Did you know that the term "shickered," meaning drunk, as in "Old Joe was as shickered as all get out," comes from the Yiddish word shicker? Now, how did that word get into the Kiwi language?
•Sign in a Waipukurau women's boutique window: Panties. Half off.
(Crawl in progress. More to come when it's is finished)
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