Urban Myths--The Apple of Discord

Yesterday Hank and me were having lunch, and his three sisters come over. Hank says to me, “Ferris, my friend, which of these three lovely women is the prettiest?” Instantly all three of them turn to me. You can see that each of them wants me to say her name. Now I’m not stupid. There’s no way I’m going to answer that question. So I smile and say, “I’m so blinded with your pulchritude that it’s impossible to choose just one of you. So I choose all three.” Mr Diplomacy, that’s me. Mr Diplomacy who got a vocabulary-builder calendar last Christmas. But that’s not good enough for any of them. They all start shouting that I have to say which one is the prettiest.

Talk about a predicament. The oldest one is married to the boss. The middle one could lead troops into battle, she’s so fierce. And the youngest one is dating this big ironworker.

There’s no way I can come out of this a winner. So I say all kind of nonchalant like, “You know who I think is pretty. That Helen who works in shipping.” Talk about your wrong answers. I think I’ve started a war.