Group texts with Tim and Jim often go places I didn’t expect.
Here is one from Saturday:
Me: There are eight dogs barking inside this house. Peace lasted about five minutes after they all came in to cool off. Just long enough to get treats. Now the Ps [Tim’s dogs] are all, “Get us out of this madhouse.”
Jim: Bah hah hah. Now you have to make a rhyme out of all that.
Me: I could.
Jim: In iambic pentameter.
Tim: Is that math? I don’t do that.
Jim: Ha ha.
Me: But I can.
Once we are in the house we stop and stare
We marvel at the young chihuahua there
Why must she scream, what can it mean, we ask
Maybe she is meant to be our light snack
Take that, Shakespeare.
Jim: Touché.
Tim: Brava!
Me: Thank you for not choosing villanelle.