Case in point: on Christmas Eve, my friends got into a fight at dinner, which I recounted to him.
He acted as if I had told him that they had slashed each other’s throats, proclaiming that Christmas was a time of “happiness and joy”.
I warned her in advance that he wasn’t particularly handsome, that his English was suffering and that she might find that he has a stronger resemblance to her parents’ friends than to mine.
The only difference was her parents’ friends were cool and the Old Flower wasn’t, which she realized the minute moment we climbed “to the sky” and he swung open the door, goofy smile on his face.
Clearly, he had expected the answer to be more in the realms of chocolate milk.