Page 44 of Grumpy Puck

Now the smile touches his yummy lips—which you can barely see under the beard.“Let’s hope the hawks never meet your best friends because they’d eat them.”

I wave that away.“My rats live indoors.”And that isn’t such an unnatural habitat for them.

“You sure?”He gestures at Wolfgang.

I scowl.“If some stupid bird tried to go after him, I’d break its stupid beak.”

Michael’s stomach rumbles, loudly.“I should’ve had some food on the plane.”

“Actually, I’m hungry too.”For those hidden lips… but food would be helpful as well.

He knocks on the partition that separates us from the driver.When the partition descends, he asks the driver what there is to snack on in this car, and the menu turns out to be that of a fancy restaurant—and includes a cheese plate.

Closing the partition, I let the rats out so they can feast alongside us.

Michael doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“You know,” he says as he raises a cracker with caviar to his mouth.“I told you about my family situation—or lack thereof—but you never told me about yours.”

Ah.That.I’m worried that if he learns about my family, he will not want to even pretend to date me anymore.Then again, if he’s like that, fuck him.I don’t want to date him either.Fake date, I mean.

So, as I devour the fancy appetizers, I tell him about growing up in the circus and list some of the more outrageous “jobs” of my family members.

“Wait,” he says after I mention my grandparents.“Were you joking, or was your Pop-Pop really a human cannonball?”

That’s where he thought I was joking?Not when I mentioned a cousin who has a regurgitation act?

“No, I’m serious.Pop-Pop got shot out of a cannon until he retired.Oh, and his act has been retired too.”I grin.“They couldn’t find another man of his caliber.”In case it wasn’t clear, I add, “That part was a joke.”

Michael groans.“All the best comedians tell people that they’ve just made a joke.”

“There are more jokes where that one came from,” I tell him.

He arches a sexy, bushy eyebrow.

“Do you know what you call the act of eating a member of my family?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll give you a clue.Why wouldn’t you want to eat a member of my family?”

He looks at me like I might require psychiatric help.“Because… cannibalism?”

“Wrong.The respective answers are: ‘tossing the salad’ and ‘because we taste funny.’”

“I don’t get it,” he says.“Or is that on purpose?”

“Come on.Our last name is Klaunbut,” I say, this time pronouncing it as everyone else does.

“Clown butt?”He cocks his head.“Didn’t you say it was ‘claw-un-boot?’”

I sigh.“It’s clown butt.I just didn’t want to give you any more ammunition.”

He groans again.“I get it now, though I wish I didn’t.Tossing someone’s salad is slang for eating butt, and you wouldn’t want to eat a clown because they taste funny.”

I slow clap and roll my eyes.“Do you think you’re better at jokes than I am?”

His eyes go slitty.“A guy gets lost in the woods and starts shouting.A bear walks up to him and asks why he’s making all the noise.‘I’m lost,’ the guy explains.‘So I was hoping someone would hear me.’The bear bares his teeth.‘I heard you.Feel better now?’”

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