Yesterday Matt and I went to brunch. Sitting next to us was a family from a foreign country, most likely a slavic one. As they sat there eating their food, an older woman approached them. She leaned in conspiratorially and said, “My husband didn’t want me to ask you this, but I’m going to anyway. What color is a burp?” They looked somewhat blankly at her and so she repeated it, adding a motion of something being ejected from her mouth. One of them said, “What?” “Burple!” And then she cackled happily and walked away while they sat there stunned. The American girl with them, obviously a cousin, explained the joke to them and they all gave their protests of confusion. And she goes, “Well, it isn’t funny. That’s why.” And every one lived happily ever after.
Except for Matt. See, I burp a lot (because I’m a classy lady) and every time I did it yesterday, Matt would say, “Burple.” And then he’d sigh in frustration that he couldn’t get it out of his head.