Oil Crisis

"Enough is enough! Enough of the oiling!" I said in exasperation to the cook.

She looked at me in amazement. "Why would I do that?"

"Because oiling has become a way of life," I remarked.

"I've heard of a midlife crisis, but this is the first time I'm encountering a sixty plus crisis!" She exclaimed. "I've also heard of the 'old oil' as P.G. Wodehouse put it .....!"

"You read P. G. Wodehouse?" I asked in amazement.

"Yes, when I'm not reading Bertrand Russell," she replied.

"Oh!"

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt," my cook said gravely.

"Are you calling me stupid?" I asked suspiciously.

"I did not. Russell said that somewhere," she said.

"He said nothing about oiling?"

"Yes, he said that the amount of accessible oil in the world is unknown," she replied smugly.

"Obviously, if people go about oiling on a daily basis," I said, "one day it is bound to run out!"

"What about you?" she asked accusingly.

"What about me! I don't go about oiling people," I replied indignantly.

"I didn't say that. Don't misquote me. I meant that you're dependent on oiling too!"

"You said that again!" I said despairingly.

"You do oil your car, don't you, ha! ha!" she chuckled.

"Yes, but it's not the old oil," I replied heatedly.

"You wait for ten years and see," she said.

"Oh! Ten years is a long time," I said dismissively.

"You will be waiting with buckets of oil then," she said.

"Certainly not! Do you think I'm a fire-brigade man going around with buckets and hoses?" I asked crossly.

"Firemen don't  go around with buckets these days," she pointed out.

"As long as they don't cook their goose while dousing fires," I said gloomily, "What's goose for the gander is the same for the chicken," I argued.

"First, it is what 's good for the goose is good for the gander. Second, it is inappropriate here and third, are you calling me names because I'm a woman?" she  demanded.

"I..I didn't say anything!" I gulped.

"Yes, you did because gander means woman!"

"Oh! Does it?" I asked taken aback.

"Yes, it does. Did they not teach you anything in school?" she asked impertinently.

"Now, now don't  you go picking on me for my school merely because my first two schools were

girls' schools," I said defensively.

"And, didn't  the little girls teach the little lamb anything about oiling?" she asked sarcastically.

"No, they didn't do that because they were too young to do so," I replied stiffly.

"But you knew!"

"Certainly not!" I cried, "What would a little boy know about lubrication."

"That carries an adult certification," she snapped.

"What  ... what?" I asked in astonishment.

"The word lubrication," she said primly.

"You must have a dirty mind," I said, wondering if I was right.

"Your tongue and mind needs laundering," she said simply.

"You mean brainwashing?" I asked wonderingly.

"It could be shampooed if you had one!"

"Hold your tongue woman!"

"Certainly not ! I offer burnt offerings to your innards daily, don't you forget."

"Help! Police! Fire!" I yelled.

"Where's the fire, or is this an April fool joke?" she asked taken aback.

"No, I was just getting tired of being harangued by you," I said triumphantly, " And, no more oil! Just because its price has come down, don't dump a litre or two among the fish and  chips. A few tablespoons will be adequate for oiling."