“Who cares what they called you?” said Steve as he turned their dinner on the spit over the open fire.
Julie threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “I'm just saying, what if we called them a bunch of flatheads or something?”
“And I'm just saying it doesn't matter, Honey.” The aroma of sizzling meat filled the night air. A good meal usually perked her right up, but not this time. Julie was absolutely inconsolable and on the verge of tears.
“They'll put it in all the books, Steve! Is that what you want?”
Dinner wasn't going to cut it. He'd have to do that thing he hated most of all: be emotional. He reached over and tickled his wife's bare foot. She tried not to smile, but he could see it was working. “See? I don't think they're that big at all. Now, you want some of this flathead or do I have to eat the whole thing?”
Julie laughed at the joke and moved to sit closer to her husband and stroke his fur. Steve was right. Her feet weren't that big. And the humans really did have stupid, flat heads. But they were so tasty!