“Zee,” he said, “is the final letter.”
“Zed,” she said, her eyes rolling.
“Zzzz,” he said with his eyes closed, though he knew she wouldn’t be fooled.
“Zip,” she said, pointing rather rudely in an exaggerated display he couldn’t help noticing below his almost closed eyelids.
“Zipper,” he said, not to be outdone.
“Zero tolerance for other dialects?” she asked.
“Zero,” he said. “Zilch.”
“Zebra crossing?” she suggested.
“Zebra belongs in the zoo or in nature, but not on Main Street,” he said.
“Zzzz,” she said.
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Links to previous A-Z stories:
Miriam Drori, Author 