"What's time to a ...?"

“What time is it?” Kelsie asks, looking over the wreckage of the dinner table. It feels both late and early, which in a way exactly what two a.m. is. Her long blonde hair is usually up in a crisp twist, but she’s let it down. While Harrison watches, she twirls a finger lazily around one perfect curl.

George pours himself another glass of chardonnay, and he says, “What’s time to a pig?” and before Kelsie can wrap her tipsy brain around the question in order to get offended, Eileen smacks George on the shoulder and says, “NO NO NO. That’s the end!” Eileen and George have been married for twelve years. This is their one joke. They don’t know how to tell it.

“The end of what?” Vivian asks. Viv has short black hair in a pixie cut and was wearing bright red lipstick at the start of the night, but most is on the rim of her champagne glass now and the rest is on her napkin. She plays with her pearls out of habit.

“The joke!”

Mira, at the head of the table, is already giggling. But it may be because her husband has been playing footsie under the table since dessert. Which was a tower of triple-layered cherry pie laden with whipped cream. The confection looked delicious two hours ago and has been slowly folding in on itself.

“Start at the beginning,” suggests Viv, also a little tipsy, leaning on her date. She very slowly licks the back of her antique spoon while several guests watch hungrily. Viv has a way of captivating other people’s beaus. She has been progressively disrobing during the meal, claiming that the spicy food has turned up her internal furnace. She’s down to a halter and her mini skirt. It’s as if she’s been playing strip poker against herself and losing.

“So there’s this city slicker,” says George, leaning back and getting comfortable. He loosens his tie. Someone lights a joint and takes a puff and passes. The air starts to fill with tendrils of silvery smoke.

“Like a raincoat?” Kelsie asks.

“Like the opposite of a hick.”

“A hickey slicker?” Mira dissolves again. She’s almost sliding under the table. She has been under a table before. In fact, that’s how she met her husband.

“Dirty girl,” Dennis whispers to her. He now has his hand in her lap.

“And he’s driving in the country in his Jaguar.”

“It was a Porsche,” corrects Eileen. She wears the pants, generally fitted, tonight pinstripe. George just borrows them.

“Is the car important?” This is Brennan, Vivian's date, who is half paying attention and half wondering what Vivian would look like if she were licking something else.

“No. But I like saying Jag-u-ar the British way…”

“It was a Porsche,” Eileen's insistent.

“He’s driving the Porsche in his country…” George may be a little stoned now. He’s forgotten the puff, puff, pass rule. Harrison nudges him.

“What country? Portugal? There once was a Portuguese Porsche…”

“The country. Like, not the city. And this isn’t a limerick.”

“I know this joke! The farmer’s daughter…” the last part of Mira’s statement is lost because her husband has started kissing her neck.

“No…”

“Look at the udders on…” Harrison is just playing. But he’s also staring at Kelsie. Harrison arrived at the party solo but hopes to leave as part of a duo.

“Nope…”

In a rush to avoid more interruptions, George blurts very quickly: “He stops by a field where he sees a farmer at the base of an apple tree. The farmer is holding a pig next to a step ladder. And he goes up the ladder, holds the pig to an apple…”

“I thought it was a fig tree,” interrupts Kelsie unhelpfully.

“Different joke. This one is apple.”

“Cherry,” a voice says, chortling from under the table now. It’s Mira’s voice. Dennis has also disappeared. A hand comes up from beneath the table with a spoon. A cherry is deposited on the spoon. The hand retreats.

“Maybe it was a fig in disguise?”

“No, dear, that’s a blessing.” Kelsie is making steady eye contact with Harrison. They’ve gone around a table together before once or twice.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I looked into the heart of a fig?” This is Vivian in a borrowed voice.

“It was an artichoke. And Betty Davis.”

“She has those eyes, though…” says Harrison, staring hard at Kelsie. She bats her lashes at him.

“Is this like one of those ‘Bob’s the bus driver’ punchlines?” asks Vivian’s date, Brennan. He’s new to the gaggle, and not sure how to play along.

“Knock knock…” Mira’s voice is muffled.

“Dude, we’re still in the country. Farmer. Pig.” Eileen is a little shrill.

“His name is Farmer Pig?” Vivian finds herself hysterical.

“I thought it was Old MacDonald.” Harrison is moving around the table to take the seat next to Kelsie, recently vacated by Dennis.

“Is he a pig farmer?” asks Brennan.

“He’s an apple farmer,” Eileen is happy at least someone is paying attention.

“Fig,” says Kelsie, and she’s saying it just to Harrison.

“Fig pig?” he asks back.

“Apple farmer. Pig is a pet," says George.

“Named fig?”

“Who has a pet pig…?”

“Named fig!” It sounds like Mira is reaching some climax or another.

“This guy does.”

“Bob?” Brennan is just trying to stay on board now. Vivian has continued licking whipped cream from her spoon in a way that is making it difficult for him to concentrate.

“Bob’s the bus driver,” this is from Dennis, both under the table and under Mira.

“I thought he was driving a Porsche.”

“Jag.”

“KNOCK KNOCK.”

“I’m coming…” someone says from under the table.

“The city slicker watches the farmer carry the pig up the ladder and the pig eats an apple.” George has amped up his volume.

“Fig.”

“Apple, I swear it’s an apple, for the love of…” George inhales deeply, and exhales a lot of smoke and the next part of the joke, “and then the farmer carries him down the ladder again.”

“How much does the pig weigh?” asks Brennan.

“Why?”

“Is that part of the math problem?” Kelsie seems concerned.

“There isn’t any problem. So the farmer takes the pig…”

“I thought it was an alpaca.”

“NOBODY SAID ANYTHING ABOUT ALPACAS.” Eileen is miffed.

“You couldn’t carry an alpaca up a ladder anyway.”

“Could you carry a pig?”

“It’s carry-able. It’s like a carry-on size,” says George.

“You’re not allowed carry-ons anymore. They charge you extra,” says Brennan.

“Did you hear about the guy who smuggled a pig in his carry-on?”

“Florida man?” asks Kelsie.

“It was!!” says Harrison. He feels he may be getting some tonight.

George with gusto: “So he carries the PIG to the next tree and up he goes to the top of the ladder and the pig eats the APPLE and the farmer comes down the ladder again…”

“Where does the bus come in?”

“They changed the route recently, and raised the prices…”

“Who takes a bus anyway?”

“Bob!” That’s sung in a chorus.

“And so the city slicker finally says…” George is sprinting to the finish line.

“Your daughter…”

“There’s no daughter!” insists Eileen.

“Your mama…” even George laughs.

“Why don’t you just shake the tree…”

“It’s a peach tree?”

“That’s a song. This is a joke,” says George.

“Is it, because it’s not funny. Maybe if you tried singing it.”

“If you just shook the tree, the apples would come down and you wouldn’t have to waste your time carrying the pig…” Eileen has taken over the joke.

“Fifty dollars.”

“What?”

“Fifty dollars for a carry-on!”

“Up the ladder!”

“Down the pole!”

“And the farmer says…”

“What time is it?”

“God, it’s late. We gotta go. Better call an uber.” This is Kelsie, but Harrison whispers that he'll walk her home.

“And Bob’s the driver.”

“No, Bob’s your uncle."

“The farmer says, ‘WHAT’S TIME TO A PIG?’”says Eileen.

“Why would a pig care what time it is?” asks Kelsie.

“That’s the joke!” crow George and Eileen together.

There is silence except for Mira and Dennis under the table giggling.

“What time is it anyway?” asks Kelsie.