The red dress meets a Plantagenet
ME: Hey, Richard, I meant to visit you for Halloween but I’ve been so busy. Just so everyone knows what we’re talking about, you’re a Plantagenet, right?
RICHARD III: Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?
ME: What? Wrinkles? Where? (I’m desperately looking around for a mirror. Oh, hold on, this is 1400’s, the mirror hasn’t been invented yet.) Anyway, the Plantagenets took their name from the broom plant, Planta Genista, correct?
RICHARD III: Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
ME: I’m not in pain, so no. Although you’re hurting my ears with all the yelling. So why else did your family take their name from the broom plant that everyone knows witches make their brooms out of, if you aren’t witches? It can’t be because you have a fondness for the broom just for the sake of sweeping. Although, if I may point out, you’re doing a great cleaning job with your relatives.
RICHARD III: A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear this tell-tale woman.
ME: If what I’m saying is just a tale, then why are you so worried that the heavens will hear? Who’s up there, anyway?
RICHARD III: Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither’d hag!
ME: Does that mean you like my dress?
RICHARD III: Pray, stay your tongue. A tongueless block makes a much more becoming sight of thee.
ME: Hey, that’s not from Shakespeare!
RICHARD III: Do not speak!
ME: Sorry, Richard, but you’re so behind the times. Everyone speaks nowadays. Relax! You know what? I’m just teasing you. Everyone knows there is no such thing as witches. Although there’s Harry Potter.