I don’t know how it started but it didn’t matter. My wife and I were arguing with a couple whom we’d never seen before. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know what we were arguing about, yet the words came out more and more heated as tempers grew shorter and shorter. Suddenly the man reached out and grabbed my wife’s whoopee cushion. That was the low blow. That was the last straw.
As you may know, possessing a whoopee cushion is a rare privilege in today’s society. It gives one the upper hand, the much-needed confidence booster. It permits one to demonstrate superiority and sufficient bragging rights regarding how much better off he is compared to someone else of similar stature.
However, should one lose possession of their whoopee cushion, they lose all the superiority attached to it, including their job. Hence the expression, “losing one’s whoopee cushion”. It is an allusion similar to one’s fall from grace, to be forever disgraced by the absence of the said whoopee cushion.
And here we were, my wife having had her whoopee cushion unwillfully siezed and her life instantly thrown into turmoil. She looked at me with pleading eyes, but what was I to do? I was just as helpless as she was, trying to formulate a strategy to recover her whoopee cushion that would clear as few legal hurdles as possible. Then the woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“We’re going to sue you,” she hissed in anger.
“Can’t wait,” I shot back. Just before we went our separate ways for now, I looked back at the woman, trying to hurl her one last insult to remind her this fight was far from over. Then I caught a glimpse of what helped me come up with the appropriate words.
“NICE UNDERBOOBS, LADY!”
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