He's built a chicken coop in his backyard and has ordered three pullets. One of 'em will be named Omelet. The others, he's not sure of yet, but probably Yolky and I fogot the other, but I'll suggest Shelley.
Today he mentioned that his wife isn't too excited about the chicken idea. This never occurred to me because I think it's awesome. (Apparently you can't have a rooster in Brooklyn, though, because of the noise. I smell a protesting cause culminating in the "Cocks for Brooklyn" walk-a-thon. I wonder who'd show up.)
Anyway, I told him to sell her on the idea by saying that other men, when they go through a crisis, gravitate to fast cars and metaphorical chicks. She should count her blessings. (Before they hatch. mwah, mwah)