We are driving in Southern California. There is rampant flatness. In the distance I can see a single, large building rising from the landscape. It’s huge. It’s hazy it’s so far away, but large enough that I can tell that it’s a building and that it’s enormous.
I point out the immense building in the distance. I can’t wait to see what it is. It must be terribly, terribly important.
The building gets nearer, I point it out again, waiting…closer…waiting. We pass a city limits sign. We’re in Oxnard. What is this incredibly important building that requires such a presence on Oxnard?
What is it??
We finally drive by it and I look up to see the name across the upper edge of the immense structure.
What the hell?
Me: Merrill Lynch? Merrill Lynch? Why does Merrill Lynch rate a skyscraper in Oxnard?
Himself: I don’t know. You seem disappointed.
Me: Of course I’m disappointed! This isn’t the kind of building that you put a Merrill Lynch in. Merrill Lynch doesn’t rate this kind of significance.
Himself: What should it be then?
Me: Something special. You know…like the National Unicorn Headquarters.
Himself: The National Unicorn Headquarters should be in Oxnard?
Me: Duh. Everyone knows if you want quality unicorns you go to Oxnard.
Himself: I was not aware.
Me: That’s because you don’t pay attention to these sorts of things like I do. You go to Kansas City for barbecue and Oxnard for unicorns.
Himself: And they require a big building?
Me: The biggest. Merrill Lynch doesn’t belong in that building at all.
Himself: I guess. Hey, there’s a Boot Barn. I could use some new boots.
Me: At least they have the barns.
Me: For the unicorns.
Himself: You put unicorns in barns?
Me: Sure. As long as there are a few virgins around.
Me: Yep, you have to have virgins for unicorns.
Me: It’s some sort of fetish.
Himself: Are the virgins still virgins after they’ve been locked in a barn with the unicorns?
Me: Not sure. You’re not supposed to ask too many questions.
Himself: [Deleted joke that was far too obvious and far too crass about the arousal status of unicorns. Frankly I’m embarrassed that I married the man.]
Me: [Dorothy Parker-esque joke that rights the universe after the lame-ass randy unicorn joke made by husband.]
Himself: So when we get a unicorn it has to be an Oxnard unicorn?
Me: Without question. If it’s not Oxnard it’s not a unicorn.
Himself: Do you think they ship?
Me: I’m sure they do. But we should probably order a barn.
Himself: And a virgin.
Me: Shipping’s extra for the virgin. Plus I think there’s insurance.
Himself: No doubt.