|A kind-hearted motorist saw a man struggling to change a tire alongside the highway, and pulled over to see whether he could help.|
The man had a very red face, and a dark smear across it where he'd wiped off sweat with dirty hands. His tie was undone and his shirt collar askew, and it was clear he had also wiped his hands on his once-white shirt.
Close to him stood an immaculately neat woman who was speaking in quick, agitated tones.
"Hello, there," said the motorist. "Say, I've changed a lot of tires..... maybe I can help here."
"You sure can," the man with the flat tire replied wearily. "My wife is an expert, too. If you will just do all the arguing with her about how this tire ought to be changed, I will concentrate on the dirty work and get the job done."
|The other day I accompanied my wife when she went to the parlor for a haircut.|
Reading a magazine in the reception area, I found an interesting article. I asked the receptionist if I could take the magazine next door to make a photocopy.
"Leave some ID, a driver's license or a credit card," she said.
"But my Wife is here getting a haircut," I explained.
"Yes, I know," she replied. "But I need something you'll come back for."
|Marge was in bed with a man. All of a sudden, they heard a noise downstairs. The man said, "Oh, my gosh, your husband is home!!! What am I going to do?"|
"Just stay in bed with me. He's probably so drunk he isn't going to notice you here with me."
The fear of getting caught trying to escape was more powerful than the thought of getting caught in bed with Marge, so he trusted her advice.
Marge's husband came crawling into bed and as he pulled the covers over him, he pulled the blankets, exposing six feet.
"Honey!" he yelled. "What is going on? I see six feet at the end of the bed!"
"Dear, youre so drunk, you can't count. If you don't believe me count them again."
The husband got out of bed, and counted, "One, two, three, and four... Gosh, you're right, dear!"
|Sarah and Abe are out celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary. During the evening, Sarah broaches the subject of (their) life insurance, an issue she has been raising with him for at least 10 years, without success.|
"Abe," she says, with tears in her eyes, "I don't think you love me."
"Why do you think that?" he asks.
"Because if you really loved me, you would ensure that if anything happened to you, God forbid, I would be properly provided for."
"Sarah," he says angrily, "I need life insurance like I need a hole in the head."
"I know your views," says Sarah, "but I've spoken to two of my friends recently and they tell me that their husbands have life insurance -- and they're not as rich as you. If it's good enough for them, why isn't it good enough for you?"
"I'll tell you why," replies Abe. "It's because they've been paying high premiums month after month, and what have they got so far in return? Nothing!"
"So what if their husbands have been paying for nothing?" says Sarah.
You've always told me I'm luckier than my friends -- who knows, maybe this time I'll strike it rich."