We're driving home after a lovely dinner. Stopped at a light beside us is a somewhat elderly pickup, and on the side it read:"
"HORSESHOER
512-###-####"
(Yes, there was a real phone number there. No, I don't remember it.)
Me, peering across and trying to read: Horses...hore. Horses whore?
Dean: *stares at me* Horse-shoer.
Merry Christmas!