Denise and Mike were in the middle of a quiet meal, by themselves, at their favorite Italian Restaurant. Their daughter was on the way to her grandmothers and their son was at work in a nearby Japanese restaurant. The evening had been uneventful with Denise's salad and Mike's minestrone soup acting as nice appetizers for their main course. The service that night had been excellent and just as the salad and soup bowls were cleared away, the main course was placed in front of them.
Denise had ordered a chicken and artichoke dish, which from the appearance was bound to be very good, but it was when the waiter placed the spaghetti with Italian sausage in front of Mike that the night began to change. The moment the waiter placed it on the table Denise took a deep, audible breath. Not sure what the problem was Mike looked into his wife's eyes and noticed they seemed to sparkle with a devilish delight.
"Do you want to trade dinners?" he asked, still stunned at her reaction.
"No, no I like the chicken; it's just that... ah, nothing."
"It's just that what?"
"Well," she leaned forward, looked around her from side to side and continued in a whisper, "it's the sausage. Doesn't it look like something to you?"
"Like a sausage," he replied.
"Yes, but look at it."
"So?"
"Look how it curves, just a bit, kind of twisting to the right."
Wondering if perhaps she had too much wine all he could say was, "So?"
"And it's length, don't you get it, the length is just right and the curve," she replied, her eyes moving oddly downward.
"I still... wait a minute, you picturing me skewered up on a skillet, cooking over a fire?"
Reaching out and grasping his hand in mock concern, "Oh no darling, nothing like that. But look at it, if the sausage was circumcised it would look just like yours."