This evening, my sister B and I took a walk around the neighborhood, and as we were making our way back home, noticed that quite a few guys were standing in the road staring at us. Rather than trudge through the thick of hicks, we opted to cut through a neighbor's yard. It was then that I noticed my sister looked nervous.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
She glanced about, and muttered, "Clint Eastwood is going to eat us up!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know. Their dog."
"They named their dog Clint Eastwood?" I asked, still confused.
"Um, that's his name?"
"I have no idea," I told her. "I'm just repeating what you told me."
"I never said anything about Clint Eastwood," she said. "Whoever he is."
I have no idea how we got so mixed up, but I am pretty sure that communicative "skills" like ours cause war. Besides, how could she not know who Clint Eastwood is? He's the Chuck Norris of Westerns minus the roundhouse kick.
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