So there's a pot-luck coming up at work.
I think we all know by now the dangers of blogging about work, so I won't go there. But it did get me thinking, after I noticed that one of my more consistent co-workers had signed up to bring slushburgers. I shudder just typing that. Now, if you live anywhere near me, you're intimate with slush and all the dirty ice, pebbly gravel and melty shoe-prints that it entails. So why would you ever want to spoon that between a bun and take a bite? Come on, what is with you people?
So what do you say? Choose "slushburger" if you must. I promise to mock you quietly.
Slushburger, sloppy joe or barbeque?
Gray duck or Goose?
Do you "put gas on," "fill up the tank" or "get gas"?
Bubbler, water fountain or cooler?
Hot dish or casserole?
Buffet or Smorgasbord?
Pop or soda?
Sub, hoagie or po'boy?
Supper or dinner?
Tennis shoes, track shoes or sneakers?
Bitch, whore, or wife? (thanks for the help, Honey.) (He's sick, people, you really can't blame him.)
"Eh?" "Yeah, sure" or "You betcha?"
That last one is more of a trick question. If you live in Fargo, it's all three.