I’ve been laid up with the flu most of the week this week (the regular kind, not the swine kind). I went on a trip to Vegas over the weekend with my friend Mia, and had the flu the whole time there as well.
One night, as I lay on the hotel bed with a warm washcloth on my poor stuffed-up head, Mia suggested we order some food. I pulled the washcloth from my eyes, and grabbed the pizza flyer that had been shoved under at some point during the day. I scanned down the list of strange pizzas. Nothing caught my eye. I flipped the menu. On the back, several specials were listed. One made me giggle.
“The Coach Potato” special. I don’t even remember what it included.
“What are you laughing about?” quizzed Mia. I answered, “There’s a funny typo on this menu. They wrote ‘The Coach Potato’ special.” I laughed again. “Hello, wrong vowel,” I added sarcastically.
“Yeah,” laughed Mia, “Should be the ‘roach potato.’”
I rolled over. I looked at her a long time. Before I could stop myself, I quipped, “That’s right, because when I’m lounging in front of the television, I often refer to myself as a ROACH POTATO.”
“Oh! Heheheheee!” giggled Mia, unable to help herself. “COUCH Potato! COUCH! Ha, ha, ha, I said ‘roach.’”
“Oh, God help me,” I giggled, putting the washcloth back on my face. “And ‘R’ is a consanant.”
