The Game

Rosie and Gil were in the middle of their daily jog. Rosie was slightly ahead, so didn’t notice when Gil came to a complete stop under a nearby pear tree. He reached up and grabbed two off of a branch and hollered, “Hey, Rosie!” Rosie stopped and turned back. “What is it, Gil…” she barely managed to squeak out before Gil tossed one of the pears at her. “Would you look at this,” Gil smiled as he took a bite out of the pear in his hand, “I found a pair of pears.”

Rosie laughed. The game was on.

Cradling the pear in her hand, she said, “not fair, Gil – I wasn’t pre-peared.” Rosie then lobbed the pair back to Gil. Gil caught the pear and replied, “that’s unfortunate, Rosie – you should know we are on a pear-ilous journey here.” He then threw the pear back at Rosie.

Rosie held the pear aloft, inspecting it. “Look what you’ve done, Gil,” she scolded in jest, “you’re wrecking this poor fruit. We’ll have to take it in for re-pear.”

Gil laughed as Rosie tossed the pear back. “Good one,” he acknowledged before saying, “we’ll have to look around for a good re-pear shop. Maybe com-pear prices.” Rosie winced as she caught the pear. “Maybe,” she immediately quipped, “maybe it just needs a makeover, some fashionable a-pear-rel.”

It was Gil’s turn to wince. “Oh, that’s bad,” he snickered, “you, my dear, are not backing down today!” “Nope,” Rosie replied, her voice a mix of whimsy and defiance, “in it to win it, Gilbert!” Gil pondered a moment before grabbing another pear off the tree and tossing it back, saying, “maybe it needs a place to stay. It could stay with us for a monthly fee. That would be a-pear-rent.” Rosie snorted at that one, almost dropping the pear to the ground. “That pun should be outlawed,” she said, composing herself, “I may just write to my member of Pear-liament about it.”

“I do know that they’ve outlawed fruit puns overseas,” Gil stated matter-of-factly, “in France. Pear-is, to be exact.” “Not yet. They’ve decided to devote resources to installing more public washrooms first,” Rosie corrected him with a random, made up fact, “and as we know, a flush beats a pear.” Gil had to think fast – Rosie really was quick today, and he was running out of pun ammunition quickly. “I don’t even really like pears,” he finally blurted out, “I won’t eat them, but I have to eat them to know I won’t. That’s a pear-adox.”

Rosie grimaced as the pear fell into her hands. “Oh come on, Gil – that was pretty weak,” she admonished, lightly tossing the pear to Gil, “this must be getting to you. Do you need a support animal? Like a dog, or cat… or a pear-rot?” Gil caught the pear and just stood there, feigning deep emotional trauma. “Your words hurt, Rosie,” he droned in seriousness, only barely managing to repress his laughter, “that statement was pear-nicious.”

“Ah, he’s back, ladies and gentlemen,” Rosie mockingly announced, “we must be living in pear-adise!” Gil laughed heartily. “I’m like that, Rosie,” Gil bellowed, “ I’m on, I’m off - it’s just my pear-sonality.” With that, he hurled the pear towards Rosie.

Yet out of nowhere, a hand reached out and grabbed the pear before it got to Rosie. They looked to see who had caught it, and were taken aback to see a uniformed police officer in possession of their fruit. “I ought to bring you two in to headquarters,” she snarled at the couple, “I’m personally appalled at your behaviour.” Gil and Rosie, now standing side by side, looked anxious. “We were just having a little fun, officer,” Gil politely quipped, “what did we do wrong?”

The officer took a bite out of the pear. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” she posited as she smiled broadly, “Public im-pear-ment.”