My husband, Victor, calling me from Japan:
Me: So have you seen any ninjas yet?
Victor: Yeah. I saw one in my bathroom yesterday.
Me: Fucking amateur.
Victor: I hit him in the nose with one of those things you use to put your shoe on.
Me: A shoe-horn?
Victor: No, one of those long cane things you use to slip your heel into your shoe.
Me: Yeah. That’s called a shoe-horn. Why do you have a shoe horn, grampa?
Victor: It came with the room. Quite handy for the ninja attack though.
Me: Sounds like less of an attack and more of an awkward encounter.
Victor: I know. I was all, “What is this, your first day of ninja-ing?”
Me: You should ask for another room. Ninjas are like cockroaches. For every one you see there are a thousand you don’t see. Your room is probably lousy with them. You should totally go downstairs and demand a new room because of all the ninjas and then drag the hotel staff up to look at your room and when they’re like “Sir, there are no ninjas in your room” you can be all “THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK!” and then start ripping the sheets off the bed and yelling “Ah-Ha!” And then they’ll totally comp your room.
Victor: Or send me to jail.
Me: Either way? Free night’s stay.
PS. Victor will be back from Japan any minute now with a shitload of samurai swords so don’t even think about it, burglars. And also the swords are haunted and dipped in poisonous toad juice. And they shoot bullets. They’re pretty much the most bad-ass swords ever.
Comment of the day: My 14 year old daughter was a ninja for Halloween. She wasn’t very good though because people kept seeing her. Well sort of, she was almost hit by a car, so perhaps she was getting better. ~ Kylie