This is ONE OF 3 responses to Vol 14 Suzanne 2 ("A Digression From Sex")...
Ahh, now here's a topic I can sink my teeth into.
[Aside: I once lived in Columbus, Ohio. Ohioans are the punningest people I have ever met (do you find this to be true, Stuart?). I don't think I assimilated ANY of the Ohio culture, but since I'm on the subject:
Frank was a happily married man who had only one complaint: His wife, Myra, was always nursing sick birds.
One cold November evening he came home to find a raven with a splint on its beak sitting in his favorite chair. On the dining room table there was a feverish eagle pecking at an aspirin tablet, while in the kitchen Myra was comforting a shivering wren.
Frank dropped his briefcase and strode over to where his wife was toweling down the cold little bird. "Myra!" he shouted, "I can't take it anymore! We've got to get rid of all these da....."
Myra held up her hand and cut him off in mid-curse. "Please dear," she said, "Not in front of the chilled wren!"
(The sound of someone laughing his head off)
End of digression]
I believe the topic of discussion centers around the eating of salads. My standard solution to the problem: eat a Caesar Salad, with the anchovies. Cut the anchovies into relatively small pieces. The trick then becomes to find enough salad to dilute the anchovy taste down to a manageable level. This would presumably work even if one were not partial to anchovies, although eating *that much* salad might spoil one's appetite for the rest of the meal.