"Honey," I said, "you just get back to whuppin' that badger!"

After she was done, and the badger, for lack of a better word, had been whupped, she brought it inside and laid its carcass on the counter, ready to be skinned, and, later, pan-fried.

"Okay, so what is Welsh rarebit?" she asked me again, and I knew this time, evading her questions would be like juggling live eels. Not impossible - but certainly tricky.

I decided the truth was the best approach.

"Welsh rarebit," I began, "is more commonly known, in Wales," and here I added a sly grin, "as pwchllycgwynethrenyyllglgnn."

She turned upon me the look, the look that would make Cupid fire his arrow through his own chubby little head.

"Right," I said, "That translates from Gaelic as 'Welsh rarebit'. In the Middle Ages, women used to use the soi-disant rarebit as a kind of natural handbag... once it had been hollowed out, of course."

Then I pointed across the room and went, "WHOA, WHAT THE HELL?" and when she turned to look, made my escape out the window.