Me: “I love strawberries.”
Him: “I think I’ll plant some, then.”
Me: “They grow beneath, right?”
Him: “Beneath…the sky…? Yes. They. Do.”
Me: “Nooooo. Beneeeeath…”

He, staring at me, as though I were mentally challenged, which, perhaps, I often times appear to be.

Him: “No. You’re thinking of potatoes.”
Me: “Ooooooh”, while laughing hysterically and nearly falling out of my chair.
Him: “You are perfect.”

I must really brush up on my farming. Because growing strawberries amounts to farming, n’est pas?

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