Not long ago, we took our kids to a local pet store to look at the goldfish, hamsters and birds. It's cheaper than going to the zoo, and less time consuming. As the kids giggled at the birds hopping from one perch to another, I told my husband that we needed to buy a canary to put in our kitchen.
He gave me a blank look. You know, I said. For the oven?
Furrowed brow translated into What the fuck are you talking about?
You know...for the gas? Don't tell me you don't know about canaries in the mines? That they lowered a canary down and if it was dead when they pulled it up that there was too much deadly gas. If the bird is still alive, it is safe. We ought to get one for our kitchen so I can determine once and for all if the oven leaks gas.
Narrowed eyes because he never knows when to believe me.
After I spluttered and laughed and chided him on his lack of cultural information, I was informed that he shouldn't take me out in public.
And I've been banned from going to Petsmart.