Persecution

Ever since I began my crusade against the insidious Ray Moose, I have had no peace. His spies call my telephone, pretending to offer me a credit card, and say that they "just need to verify your address."

Sure. As though I'd tell them where I live.

I traveled far away to give a lecture in a town where no one should have known me, and mounted on the wall in the lecture hall was--I am not making this up--a Moose head!

It watched me the whole time. And listened.

Just tonight I had a close call in the sanctuary of my own home. My wife prepared a special dessert to cap off a week of celebrating Easter, a sumptuous something to bring joy to the heart and sugar to the blood. I anticipated the moment all day, until she told me what it was:

Chocolate Moose.

I was stunned; I was speechless; my mouth sagged open; I was breathless, I said not a word. In my own home!

Fortunately my wife hastened to show me her recipe book, and I saw my mistake. I am a typical American and ignorant of foreign words. The name of the dish is clearly chocolate mouse, however the French pronounce it.