"He did really good," I say.
She asks me if it was a direct flight, and I say we had a stop in Toronto.
"How long is the flight?" she asks.
"About 12 hours," I say. She repeats my answer. Sounds shocked.
The next day, my neighbor calls her sister when she sees me, and tells her, "Do you know how long it takes to fly from here to Toronto? Twelve hours!"
"You drove for twelve hours?" asked the sister.
"So you didn't get the watermelon down your cooter?" he asks.
"No," she mumbles.
"Lucky for your husband," he says.