She put on some lace and a garter
To go for a romp in the larder
When she’d had quite enough
Of the whips and the cuffs
She demurred, but her safe word was “harder”
I tried so hard (heh), but ultimately failed, to incorporate the word “ardor” into this limerick.
Once upon a time, I went on a short camping trip with my brother Alex and our friend Matt. We were going to be out for a couple of days so we needed to pack some food. Alex and I were in charge of bringing sandwiches, dried fruit, meats, and some other goodies. We asked Matt to bring a dozen hard boiled eggs.
When the time came to meet up, Alex and I were ready. We chatted idly while waiting for Matt. Minutes passed. After fifteen minutes, we got comfortable, not knowing how long our wait would last. After 30 minutes, we grew impatient. After an hour, when Matt finally hurried in, we were irritated.
“What the hell happened? Where were you?”
Matt informed us that cooking the eggs had taken him well over an hour. He had to repeat this information several times before we were sure we understood. What…? How…?
Well, Matt explained, he had looked up how to make a hard-boiled egg.
So he followed directions. He followed the directions exactly, boiling a single egg for six minutes. He did that 12 times.
Alex and I spent about 10 minutes goading him, laughing at his “joke,” and asking him for the real reason why he was late. Matt remained completely straight faced and insisted that he was being serious.
To this day I choose to believe that Matt is just a master troll, though he has never, ever admitted it.