I was in the mood to cook my dear husband an authentic Christmas dinner from scratch, just like in the early days of our marriage, so I went to the butcher shop to pick a fresh Christmas goose.
"Howdy, ma'am," the butcher greeted me. "Happy holidays."
"And a happy holiday to you, too," I answered holidayedly. "Are your geese fresh?"
"You bet they are," the butcher assured me, and pointed me in their direction.
I made my way over to them, but, wanting to make sure I got the freshest one, I lifted the drumstick of the first bird I came to and took a good sniff.
"Pee-yew!" I said, holding my nose. No wonder they're called "fowl."
Well, that might have just been a bad first choice, so I lifted the drumstick of the second goose in line and once again took a good sniff.
"Pee-yew!" I said.
"Hey, lady!" the butcher interrupted. "Do you think you could pass that test?"