The Skeleton In Our Closet

We have a skeleton in our closet.

Really, we do. Sometimes when the closet door isn’t closed all the way, its left shin and foot hang out a little into the front hallway.

People say, “You have a skeleton in your closet.”

We say, “Oh. Yes, we do. Is he coming out again?”

We mostly refer to the skeleton as “he.” Every year, in October when we put him out on the porch, we give him a new name. We always name him something scary. One year it was a “she.” That year she was Bachmann.

One year he was Parry. Another year he was Harry, for Harry Whittington, the guy Dick Cheney shot in the face. This year, he’s Boehner (pronounced Boner).

Brooke says we shouldn’t say Boner. I say having a name Boehner and pronouncing it Bayner is like having a name Bucket and pronouncing it Bouquet.

You say Bayner, I say Boner. Let’s call the whole thing off.

Anyway, that’s the skeleton in our closet.

And yes, we are sick.