majordomo and I are walking. It is deep twilight. I look out across the ballfield and notice a darker patch of dark in the middle. I blink: now the dark patch has a discernible outline.
42itous: Hey, look! A flock of dinosaurs! ... See the two necks sticking up? They look like little brontosauri.
majordomo: Do you need to go to an optometrist?
(I fail to get the pun, and proceed to telling him about my cousin's contact lenses, which are such similar prescriptions that she often doesn't notice she's put them in the wrong eye.)
majordomo: If she's reading, say, Wuthering Heights...
42itous (blind, so to speak, to the impending pun): ...then she might notice.
majordomo: Then you might say she'd have Brontë sore eyes.