Last night, after splattering myself, my cabinets, and my electric tea kettle in scalding homemade cream of portobello soup, I finally made my way to a tea party. I helped decorate, I helped bake (and cook scalding soup), I helped make six pots of different kinds of tea at once. I rather suspect they weren't up to their usual precision.
Anyway, two guests who were there - one of whom literally wore a hat and gloves - were part of an exchange. I was there. I heard it. It was punny.
Since there were mounds of scones at this tea party, Angie and I realized that not only could we build our lifelong dream of Sconehenge, but that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw scones; that someday she wants to hear the Rolling Scones in concert; that if you eat too many, you might get gall scones; that he who is without sin, let him cast the first scone; and we wondered if anybody has ever killed two birds with one scone.
I'll give you the recipe for cream of portobello mushroom soup soon, but today is about puns, and the people who make them.
Which is why I want to point you to this loving tribute to Angie.
I think she could slay a giant with five smooth scones.