A Father and a Son are in a car crash. The Father dies. The son survives but the surgeon refuses to treat him saying 'I can't perform surgery on my own child.' - Who was the surgeon?
The Good Lady looked at me smugly.
Go on then. Mr Oh-I-am-so-good-at-riddles. What's the answer?
She was almost purring with satisfaction
I looked up with some relief from Hive where I had been skimming random badly written articles about Hive/Crypto/Splinterlands changing lives.
I beg your pardon? A man does what with a what? Is this a sex game?
I chortled at my incredible wit and gave myself a high five.
You heard me quite well, I am sure. So, what is the answer, Daddy-Bear? I am sure it will be no problem for someone of your vast intellect to crack this simple little riddle. Can I add though, there is an element of a test to this...
She smirked and then tittered.
My brow furrowed ferociously Blob Fish style. Tittering?? Smirking?? This was quite unbecoming of a lady. Perhaps she should tread more carefully? She wouldn't be the first human I had thrown in a bin.
I thought about her shitty riddle for a moment.
The answer my darling, is quite simple.
I sniffed triumphantly and continued.
The father dies but these things are all about wordplay. The father is not explicitly stated to be the Son's father. Therefore a Father and a Son are in a car crash, that doesn't mean that they are necessarily related. After all, I am a father and yet I could get in a car with another geezer who was a son. It would not mean I was his Father.
I made a wrapping up motion with my hands.
And so, the Surgeon is indeed his Father and the Father that died in the car was just A Father and not his Father. Tada!!!
I made a gangsta sign which involved random fingers sticking out here and there and a pout that would make a trout blush.
The Good Lady looked long and hard at me, then nodded.
See!!! BOOM!! In your face woman!!!! I am the man that all riddles fear to face!
I leapt up and victoriously started doing my best impression of a chicken thrown in a fire.
Then I noticed the Good Lady was shaking her head.
I am afraid you were quite incorrect, Daddy-Bear. The correct answer is of course, that the surgeon was the Son's Mother.
Her words crashed down on me like fat wet boobs.
Oh. Urrmm. Actually, yeah. That makes sense, kind of.
I sat back down and stroked my chin thoughtfully.
It was kind of a test, you see because men typically struggle with the answer because they assume the surgeon to always be male.
The Good Lady looked smug, like a Hive 'author' coining in the rewards for their sneakily ghost-written articles.
No, that's not the case, it was not that it was... Oh hang on. Here is the Little Lady, ask her. Bet she can't get it!
The Little Lady had trooped into the room.
What is it?
She asked suspiciously.
The Good Lady repeated her shitty riddle designed to punish men back at our beautiful innocent daughter.
I sat back and awaited her answer, in truth feeling a little smug myself now.
Eh... If the Father died and the surgeon can't operate cos its their son. The surgeon must be his Mummy then?
The Little Lady hooted jubilantly.
See.
The Good Lady put an arm round the Little Lady and shot me a glance.
Daddy doesn't get it because he assumes the surgeon has to be a man. Silly men, eh.
She laughed and the Little Lady joined in.
Hahahahha, yes Mummy. Silly men!
They flounced off leaving me to ponder at my new found promotion to the Patriarchy.
Fucking riddles, I've never liked them.