Last night we were cuddled up in bed at like 9:30 doing last weekend's puzzle (and, you know, donning our nightcaps and taking out our dentures).
ME: OK, 41-Across. William ________, longtime editor of The New Yorker.
JEFF: How many letters?
ME: Five, and we have S-H-A-blank-blank.
JEFF: Shart! (Cracks up)
ME: No. First of all, Shart is not a last name. Secondly, I don't believe that's listed in the OED.
ME: OK, 69-Across. French seaport. Starts with a 'B.'
ME: Shut up.
JEFF: No, really. B-R-E-S-T. Port de Brest. I swear.
ME: Well, how am I supposed to listen to you after the William Shart suggestion?
JEFF: (Cracks up again).
ME: "The Boy Who Cried Shart," that's tomorrow's blog post.