I heard it again five minutes ago – someone jabbering about how she had a “tuna fish sandwich” for lunch. Now it may be the sweltering summer heat (it's about 90F outside now) that's causing me to crack at this juncture, but I simply cannot help it.
As a related aside, the heat (and breakdown of the AC in my Miata) forced an ugly episode of road rage two days ago, during which I hurled invectives at nearby motorists incapable of figuring out the light was green. This was witnessed by some coworkers riding in another vehicle, close enough to quote me the following day.
This is a totally different rant. It's about tuna. (This is where I work in the stupid joke by my friend Candy who always tells me you can tuna piano but you can't tuna fish.)
Tunas are fish. Tunas are NOT birds, at least not in this dimension. So why do some people talk about their tuna fish sandwiches?
Why don't they feel the urge to qualify their chicken bird sandwiches? Or their meatball cow sandwiches?
In what planet, in what dimension, are tunas birds? Am I missing something here? Or have I finally reached the stage where I am past half baked, and heading straight to crispy?
Somebody hand me my tuna sandwich, please. Amen, and pass the mustard.