On a sunny winter day, Melody and Cynthia found themselves driving a country road between the tiny towns of Peabody and Marion when Melody pulled the car to the shoulder and whipped out her camera. The following conversation ensued.
Cynthia: What are you doing?
Melody: Taking a picture.
Cynthia: Of what?
Melody: Of that beautiful field of wheat.
Cynthia: Those are weeds.
Melody: Okay, prairie grass.
Cynthia: Why do you want a picture of that? It’s the apocalypse. There are no signs of civilization, no people, no stuff. It’s the end of the world. I’m getting hives. (Scratching madly.)
Melody: Oh, good Lord! A beautiful, flat lands field is not a harbinger of the apocalypse. You’re crazier than a jar full of teeth. I will convince you to adore Kansas if I have to drag you through 1000 more miles of Kansas prairie.
Cynthia: I shall stock up on hive ointment.
The aforementioned jar full of teeth.
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