She stormed into the room like a cold front and he looked up from his computer and felt a little sheepish. I guess you read my blog, he said

The Bengal tigers at the zoo play trombone. The giraffes call them The Trom Cats. The zebras are too afraid of the tigers to play anything.

It was a wrong number, a caller from some far away land where the food is unpalatable and the names long, but it was phone sex all the same.

He bugs her about the song, trying to remember it, the tune even. Incessantly. And finally she recalls the thing. I hate that song, he says.