As is often my evening snack custom, I pulled the box of chocolate, brownie, caramel, something ice cream from the freezer. The box was within in a plastic grocery bag to prevent lollaphalizing*. The bag crinkled as I pulled it back, and from the living room Mom yelled, "Are you getting ice cream?"
"You're like a furry thing hearing a can opener," I yelled back after thinking dog and cat, but deciding they might come across as offensive.
Furry thing was now seeming the poorer choice. "You're like a furry thing hearing a can opener."
Her recliner clunked down and Mom entered the kitchen laughing.
"Like a pet hearing the can opener," I tried to explain.
"No, I get it. I didn't hear the can opener part the first time. I just heard you say you thought I was like a 'furry thing' and thought squirrel."
"Squirrelly maybe," I said laughing. "So you see yourself as a squirrel?"
She shook her head at the absurdity of it and kept laughing as she pulled down a bowl for herself from the cupboard.
*Dammit all if I can't find it to check its spelling, but my dessert is melting so I must mush on (forgive the pun).