Mark and Gemma were sitting down to supper one afternoon. The set the table and got the cheeseburgers and French fries ready.
The were just about to get started when Mark immediately got up and walked over to the refrigerator to reach for the huckleberry preserves. As he put a dollop onto each of his cheeseburgers, his stunned girlfriend looked on in total and utter awe.
“I beg your pardon!!” she demanded. “In just precisely what universe, may I ask, is that considered acceptable?!”
“Everybody enjoys an occasional wocklecockle every once in a while,” he reminded her.
She gave him yet another dumbfounded, disapproving smirk.
He went on to explain, “Wocklecockle, noun, from the old English, any unconventional topping on a salad, sandwich, meat, dessert, or whatever. So did your parents raise you in a tree house in Squaresville or something, or what? It’s considered all the rage in fashionable ‘haute cuisine’ circles.
“If you will kindly excuse me, please my good man,” the lovely lady stammered as politely as possible, “While I’m quite certain that Pierre of the Waldorf, and Oscar of the Ritz have given it their ‘Lah Di Dah’ (smug gestures) seal of approval, I shall please have to excuse myself from the honor and privilege of your company until further notice.”