When we lived in Denton, Kathy and I would sometimes make our way to the local cinema for a date. On one of these occasions, we were standing in line outside the theater when we noticed a group of men, evidently from a group home, milling about in front of us with their two female attendants. Kathy and I quietly watched them for a while, smiling at their evident enjoyment at the outing.

As we followed them into the theater, one of them came up to me and stuck out his hand. I took it and began to shake it. “Hi there!” I said brightly to him. “I like beer!” he responded, standing about 4 inches closer to my face than most Americans consider polite. “Yeah, that beer’s good stuff!” He was still shaking my hand, and leaning a bit closer, said in what he thought was a conspiratorial tone of voice, “I’m a girl!” “No kidding? You certainly hide it well.” After another moment’s thought and a glance over at Kathy, still shaking my hand and losing the conspiratorial volume level altogether, he pronounced “I LIKE YOUR WIFE!”

We all broke up laughing at that point, and his attendant brought him back to the rest of the group, apologizing between gales of laughter. We smiled about that incident for days, and cut loose with an occasional “I LIKE YOUR WIFE!” from time to time.