A couple’s happy married life almost went on the rocks because of the presence in the household of old Aunt Emma.
For seventeen long years she lived with them, always crotchety, always demanding.
Eventually, the old girl passed away.
On the way back from the cemetery, the husband confessed to his wife, “Darling, if I didn’t love you so much, I don’t think I would have put up with having your Aunt Emma in the house all those years.”
His wife looked at him aghast.
“My Aunt Emma!” she cried. “I thought she was ‘your’ Aunt Emma!”
His beloved old white convertible was in deplorable shape, but he refused to get rid of it. So when the old junker was stolen from his office parking lot, his family was delighted. Nonetheless, they called the police and filed an insurance claim.
Their relief was short-lived, within an hour an officer was on the phone. “We found the car less than a mile away,” he said, trying to restrain himself. “It had a note on it that read, ‘Thanks anyway, we’d rather walk.'”
A young woman, pursuing a graduate degree in art history, was going to Italy to study the country’s greatest works of art. Since there was no one to look after her grandmother while she was away, she took the old lady with her. At the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, she pointed to the painting on the ceiling.
“Grandma, it took Michelangelo a full four years to get that ceiling painted.”
“Oh my, “the grandmother says. “He and I must have the same landlord.”
During their 50th anniversary wedding celebration at a banquet in their honor, my Dad was asked to give a brief account of the benefits achieved from being married for so long.
My father stood up, thought for a long moment, then said, “Well, I’ve learned that marriage is the best teacher of all. It teaches you loyalty, meekness, forbearance, self-restraint, forgiveness, and….” he paused.
“And?” someone cried out from the back of the room.
“…and a great many other qualities you wouldn’t have needed if you’d stayed single!” my father exclaimed.
The room erupted in laughter.
I was checking out at the busy super market, and the cashier was having problems. The register ran out of paper, the scanner malfunctioned, and finally the cashier spilled a handful of coins. When she totaled my order, it came to exactly $22.
Trying to soothe her nerves, I said, “That’s a nice round figure.”
Still frazzled, she glared at me and said, “You’re no bean pole yourself.”
A large truck was tailing my son as he drove through town with a female classmate. The truck matched them turn for turn, down every street.
My son’s concern grew to alarm when the menacing-looking driver pulled next to him at a light, leaned out his window, and glared into his car. After a long, hard stare, the man grinned and called to my son, “Sorry, kid, I thought that was my daughter.”
Sherlock Holmes’s sister, Ella, was a bit confused–not that she suffered from dementia or anything–she simply was a bit “blonde.” She was always getting her two twins confused, even though they were fraternal, not identical, and everyone else could easily tell Patricia from Theresa.
One day Sherlock’s sister invited the great detective and his assistant to a piano recital that Patsy was to give the following evening. When she left, Sherlock’s assistant said, rather bewilderedly, to Sherlock, “I didn’t know Patsy was studying the piano.” To which Holmes replied,
“Ella meant Terry, my dear Watson.”
Old Jacob Johnson, raging hypochondriac, was convinced that the pain on his left side was appendicitis. Mrs Johnson explained that the appendix is on the right.
“So, aha! THAT’s why it hurts to much,” said Jacob. “My appendix is on the wrong side!”