Last night, during a particularly romantic moment, my husband leered,
‘‘I move that your pants be stricken from the record.’’
I still maintain that this is the very best example I have ever heard in this regard:
A woman was sitting on the couch in the dorm room of a rather unusual acquaintance, watching a movie. He turned to her, pants askew, and with an utterly earnest and nervous expression asked,
‘‘Would you like to touch Mr. Pickle?’’
It took every shred of her decency not to burst into hysterical laughter.
All right, your turn.