Oh! That’s so cute!

Do you think so? I wasn’t sure when she was gave me the mirror. I mean, you don’t think it’s too fluffy looking?

Oh no! No, it’s perfect. I’d love to get my hair cut like that, but I think my face is too wide. I’m pretty much stuck with this stuff I think.

Are you serious? I think your face is adorable. And you could easily get one of those layer cuts that would look so cute I think. I was actually going to do that except that I was afraid it would accent my long neck.

Oh, that’s funny! I would love to have your neck! Anything to take attention away from this two-by-four I have for a shoulder line.

Are you kidding? I know girls that would love to have your shoulders. Everything drapes so well on you. I mean, look at my arms. See how short they are? If I had your shoulders I could get clothes to fit me so much easier.

A Man’s Conversation About a Haircut:

Haircut?

Yep.

At 11:00 a.m., the caller tried again, and I reported that Marina had gone to lunch.

The last call came in at 3:30 p.m. “I’m sorry,” I said, “she’s left for the day. May I take a message?”

“Yes,” the caller replied. “How can I get a job with you?”

Jill looked ahead and saw a truck double parked on the narrow street. Not only did the driver fail to slow down, he actually accelerated as he approached the truck. He slipped his cab through the available space with an inch or two to spare on either side.

“Driver,” Jill screamed, “Are you crazy? Are you trying to get us both killed?”

“Relax, Lady,” he said. “Just do what I do. Close your eyes.”

“When is that?” asked the kid.

“Right after the National Anthem.”

I got one of those bumper stickers that say, “How’s my driving?” and put a 900 number on it.

At 50 cents a call, I’ve been making $38 a week.

“Say, look at that big bunch of cows.”

The hired hand replied, “Not ‘bunch,’ but ‘herd.’ ”

“Heard what?”

“Herd of cows.”

“Sure, I’ve heard of cows. There’s a big bunch of ‘em right over there.”

Three months later they returned home and were met by the wealthy parishioner, who told them that while they were gone, he had had a new church built. “It’s the finest building money can buy, vicar,” said the man. “No expense was spared.” And he was right. It was a magnificent edifice both outside and in.

But there was one striking difference. There was only one pew, and it was at the very back. “A church with only one pew?” asked the vicar.

“You just wait until Sunday,” the rich man said.

When the time came for the Sunday service, the early arrivals entered the church, filed onto the one pew and sat down. When the pew was full, a switch clicked silently, a circuit closed, the gears meshed, a belt moved and, automatically, the rear pew began to move forward. When it reached the front of the church, it came to a stop. At the same time, another empty pew came up from below at the back and more people sat down. And so it continued, pews filling and moving forwards until finally the church was full, from front to back.

“Wonderful!” said the vicar, “Marvelous!”

The service began, and the vicar started to preach his sermon. He launched into his text and, when 12 o’clock came, he was still going strong, with no end in sight. Suddenly a bell rang, and a trap door in the floor behind the pulpit dropped open.

“Wonderful!” said the congregation, “Marvelous!”

“Look,” she said. “We only met a half hour ago. How can you be so sure? We know nothing about each other.”

“You’re wrong,” the young man declared.

“For the past 5 years I’ve been working in the bank where your father has his account.”

“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove had caught on fire. It went up in seconds. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is gone…”

“Wait! Back up a minute,” the man says. “My agent called?”

“I am NOT the maid” is a phrase they’ve heard many times.

When my oldest went off to college, he called me after one week at school. Among the first words he heard at college, he reported, were those of the dormitory maid, announcing to a student who had not picked up after himself in the men’s lavatory,

“I am NOT your mother!”