party fowl

I was feeling comfortable at last
after a long and emotional day
with my arm still sore from the jab
and my heart aching for my lad.

But now was time for my wife and I
to sit together and enjoy a cocktail
or two while sharing thoughts
and laughter and insights.

When suddenly, I fell too heavily
on the sofa and upset the plate
of jalapeno poppers and a sweet
dipping sauce of onions and pepper.

Shyly I cringed at my mishap
only grateful that the sauce was intact
and the snack still quite edible
as I quickly settled my arse back down.

And then she snickered and said,
“Party foul,” and me being
a generation ahead of her and
painfully out of touch, I grimaced.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know
what party foul means,” she said,
as images of a much besotted Duck
jauntily danced a reel in my head.

“Of course I … do,” I insisted
sheepishly, and she kindly explained,
but still, I like the image of minced Duck,
the reekin’, howlin’ fowl, far better

even if poor Sarah might look askance.

In case you were wondering about the reference there, this is Sarah and Duck. [Image by Source (WP:NFCC#4), Fair use,