When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.
When an eel bites your thigh and you bleed out and die, that’s a moray.
When you’re smashed with a jug in a South Auckland pub, that’s a Māori.
When you see a big boat tied up with a rope, that’s a mooring.
When you wake up and it’s bright because it’s no longer night, that’s the morning.
The wealthy socialite Mrs. Smythe was making final arrangements for an elaborate reception.
“Nora,” she said to her veteran servant, “for the first half-hour I want you to stand at the drawing-room door and call the guests’ names as they arrive.”
Nora’s face lit up. “Thank you, ma’am,” she replied. “I’ve been wanting to do that to some of your friends for the last 20 years.”
Juan Vega, the clam diver, found an injured sea otter and nursed it back to health. From the moment the grateful otter was able to walk, it never left Juan's side. It even learned to dig for clams.
One day, a man went to Juan's house looking to hire him for a week. His wife answered the door, and said "He can work for you, but it will cost you $500."
"That much?" asked the man.
"But you're getting my husband and his otter," said the wife. "They bring up more clams than anyone else in town."
"But I just want Juan. I'll hire him alone for $350," the man countered.
"Sorry," she shrugged. "You can't have Juan without the otter."