Lounge Lizard

I was in our bedroom on Sunday morning, making the bed, when I heard Mom call out from the kitchen, “Bill!”

I listened for a response and, sure enough, a couple of beats later, his loud reply of “What?” came from the Arizona Room and echoed throughout the house.

“Come here for a minute,” she yelled.

I could hear his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen and asked her again, “What?”

“Can you look out the window and tell me if that’s a leaf or a lizard on the driveway?” she asked.

There was a pause before I heard his answer, “It’s a lizard.”

“What?” Mom said.

“It’s a lizard,” he said a little louder.

“I can’t hear you,” she yelled.

‘IT’S A LIZARD!” he shouted.

“Oh, okay.  Is it the same one that’s been living in the garage?”

“I don’t know, they all look the same to me,” he replied.  “Time for new glasses?”


“A hearing test maybe?” he said.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying,” she said.

“NO, IT’S NOT,” he yelled.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“It’s wearing a different colored bowling shirt,” I heard him reply as he walked out of the kitchen.

“Okay then,” she responded against the rustle of newspaper pages turning, no doubt, to the crossword section.  “Just thought I’d check.”

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