Not Joking At All

Not Joking At All

“Are you kidding me?” Omar Price asked incredulously.

“Obviously, I am. I usually never joke about livestock,” Dom Mitchell told him straight-faced.

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“You said you wanted some, so I thought I’d help out.”

Omar sighed as he looked over the ‘gift’.

“I was talking about babies.”

“These are babies.”

“I meant human children with my wife, obviously!”

“Why didn’t you use the word children then?”

“Everybody uses the slang ‘kids’ for children these days.”

“Not me, child, children, rug rats, yard apes; never kids,” Dom insisted.

“Thanks for the thought, old pal but I have no place to put them.”

“I can’t return them, they’re non-refundable! I guess I’ll have to sell them or something.”

“Would you donate them?” asked Omar.

“Sure, you know someone?”

“A few petting zoos I know of would take them. Can you deliver?”

Dom nodded. Omar called around. Soon the herd of baby goats were being loaded into a truck.

“Here are the five addresses,” Omar said as he handed the list up to Dom.

He let out a long-drawn out, low whistle.

“That was so close. I really must learn to make my meaning clear whenever I even have a conversation with Dom.”

Omar got in his minivan and headed home. As he left Dom’s house, his cell rang. His face broke out in a huge grin.

“That’s wonderful, honey! I’m on my way home!” he said into the phone with excitement.

“I’m gonna be a daddy!” he whispered to himself.

As he turned into his driveway, he vowed he’d never call them ‘kids’ ever!

“Even if they love to climb and eat everything that isn’t nailed down, just like baby goats! But if they faint when they get excited, who knows!”