The Yuts

The phone was ringing. An 865 number. It was my sister, Christina.

"Hello?"
"Hey, how was the yut?"
"What?"
"Did. You. Have fun. At the yuts?"
"You mean the yurts?"
"Oh, yeah," Christina giggled. "Well, I knew it was like a hut but with a "y."

Christina is truly hilarious in ways she does not intend.

The two of us take unreasonable pleasure when Mom says something a little off. For example, when driving past the fitness center LA Fitness, Mom said, "Look, la fitness," as if it was a French gym. And then there was the time Christina called me so hysterical that I could barely understand her; she and Mom had been watching an awards show and Penelope Cruz had strutted by and her name had appeared at the bottom of the screen. Mom made some comment about "Pin-uh-lope" Cruz and Christina just lost it, immediately calling me so I could join in the hilarity. And of course we'll never forget the road trip where everything we drove past was "quaint and picturesque" according to Mom. We've gotten a lot of milage out of that one.

But yuts? Lookout, Christina. Guess who you're turning into?