November 20, 2017: Knock Knock!

In the almost eight years she’s been living in Canada, Akemi has mastered many aspects of western culture – its unreliable transportation system, the English language, Beef Wellington – but there’s one uniquely North American oddity she’s yet to grasp: the knock-knock joke.  And yet, despite her repeated failures to fully grasp its nuanced set-up and delivery, she keeps trying.  Like last night, when she insisted we, once again, go down the knock-knock route.  After some reluctance, owing in large part to the fact that my storehouse of knock-knock jokes is almost bare, I conceded.  The results were, if not exactly predictable, certainly not that surprising –

“Knock knock,”I said.

“Who’s there?”she asked.

“Boo,”I said.

“Who’s boo?”she asked.

I sighed and explained to her that the correct phrasing of her response should be “Boo hoo?”, thus setting up the classic follow-up: “You don’t have to cry about it.”

A realization seemed to dawn.  “So you have to think of something that ends in hoo?”

“Well no – ”

“Like tofu,”she said, pronouncing the “fu” in tofu as she often does, with an “f” so soft it could be misinterpreted for a “hu”.  “Or kung-hu?”

“No – ”

“Knock knock,”she said.

“Who’s there?”

“Toe.”

“Toe who?”

She frowned.   “It doesn’t really make sense.  A better way would be – knock knock?”

“Who’s there?”I asked.

“Something soft,”she replied.  “And then you guess tofu.  You see?”

Yeah.  No.  I tried again: “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Lettuce.”

“Lettuce who?”

“Lettuce in!  It’s cold out here?”

She frowned.  “Why lettuce?”

“Because lettuce in it’s cold out here.”

She started back at me, genuinely mystified.  “That’s not a joke.” Uncomprehending: “That’s funny?  That’s not funny.  I think my kung-fu joke you didn’t like is better.”  And then, after some consideration, a sigh of resignation. “The knock-knock joke – it’s very hard to nail it.”

I don’t even want to get her started on puns.