What does “foreseeable future” mean?

Forever.

That’s the question Johanna asked when I mentioned an Indian friend of mine.

“Feathers,” I replied, then added, “Do you ever worry about getting in trouble for that question?”

“Hell, no,” Johanna replied. “Anyone who worries about saying what’s on their mind is already in trouble.”

“I’m David, the unsound guy,” I replied.

Derek and I worked on our appropriate sides of the fence, and a very loud time was had by all.

“The pizza’s in the oven,” Renée replied, “I’m just waiting for the timer to go off.”

A few minutes later, the piercing shriek of fire alarm interrupted our conversation.

“Dinner’s ready!” Renée exclaimed.

A couple of minutes later, Renée and I were eating our slightly charred dinner. I was tempted to suggest that she not use a smoke detector as a food timer, but decided not to broach the subject. After all, no one likes to be told how to cook.

“Did you already read about it in my notebook?” I asked.

“I may have,” she replied, “I don’t pay much attention to your little stories.”

“You do know that I sometimes fabricate tales, don’t you?” I continued.

“Of course,” Talia responded.

“I wasn’t lying about the cat, just now,” I said, “but it might be fair to say that I was penning a short fiction piece with my tongue.”

Talia squinted, then huffed.

“Galileo alleged, ‘wine is sunshine held together by water,’ but I disagree,” I said. “Wine is just an excipient, a delivery mechanism for alcohol.”

“Do you mean that you’d stop drinking ale and wine if you could take a cheap, tasteless alcohol pill?” Greta asked.

I usually have a quick answer for everything, even if I know it’s wrong. In this case, though, I was thoroughly perplexed.

“I’ll try almost anything once,” I replied without answering the question.