“Oh look,” I said, “there’s a duck in amongst the reeds.”
Crisp, my aged and learned companion looked to where I was pointing.
“If I’m not mistaken,” replied Crisp, “I believe it a mallard and not a duck but a drake.”
She then launched into a long discourse about the relative qualities of ducks and drakes.
I wasn’t all that interested and said I didn’t give a flying duck about ducks and drakes, which as it turned out, was not the attitude to have. It fired her up even more, and I found myself shutting down with her words floating around me in a meaningless babble.
She never liked me being rude to her and often made clear her feelings.
“Well,” I said, “saying I don’t give a flying drake has not the same impact as a flying duck now does it?”
She looked at me in disgust and stormed off down the track.