I had a much-loved aunt, to whom it was almost impossible to tell a story, particularly a funny story, because of her habit of asking literal questions. "So, there was this man in a pub..." someone would begin. "Why was he there?" she would ask, intent to know the answer. "Well, he'd just gone in to have a drink or something. It doesn't really matter, you know. He was just in the pub. Anyway, another man walks in with an alligator under one arm..." "Good Heavens, would that be safe? Are alligators allowed in pubs? Was it a live one?" "Yes, it was a live alligator. And he puts it down on the bar..." "Didn't the barman object to that? I'm sure an alligator on the bar wouldn't be very hygienic." "He was a very tolerant barman apparently. So, the man puts down the alligator..." "And he wasn't worried about it falling off?" "No, it was a very sensible alligator" "... and turns to the crowd in the pub..." "So there were lots of people in there, then?" "Yes, a lot of people. And he unzips his fly..." "Good heavens! Did he really?" "Yes, he really did, and then he..."
And so the story would lurch on, from one interjection to the next, often coming to a complete stop before the end as the complexity of explaining the logic became too much. I loved it and miss her greatly.
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