Question:
Under what circumstances can you babble baby talk in public, occasionally turning to bellow, like a sailor in a thunderstorm, into the face of passers-by?
A. You are demented.
B. You are a baby.
C. You’re walking a dog.
Question:
Under what circumstances would you find yourself compelled to walk around outside at the crack of dawn and very late at night, picking up feculence from the ground and keeping it about your person?
Answer:
A. You are an archaeologist studying coprolites in the dark because you are albino.
B. You are an escaping prisoner trying to disguise his scent.
C. You’re walking a dog.
See where I’m going with this? Maybe it’s a broad target but nobody can get away with this crazy behaviour except dog-walkers. I’ve been missing my morning cycle ride – but I don’t miss the dog-walkers. The ones I saw every day on the Heath were almost uncannily uniform in appearance: leathery, shrill, gilet-clad women in their mid-fifties wearing those giant Innovations Catalogue sunglasses that make them look like a cross between a prune and a jeep.
Question:
Is there a word for phrases which make you believe the exact opposite of what they say? Phrases such as these:
He doesn’t bite
He’s never done that before
He’s just nervous
He thinks you’ve got food for him.
Don’t run away, he’ll chase you.
Yeah.
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