Marge was in bed with a man (not her husband). All of a sudden, they heard a noise downstairs. "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 won't 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. Sure enough, 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 the heck is going on? I see six feet at the end of the bed!"
"Dear, you're 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, four… By gosh, you're right, dear!"
Janice, my sister, had been pestering her husband, a carpenter, for more than a decade to build a screen door for the kitchen.
One day, to her delight, he built and installed one in less than two hours. It was both practical and pretty. She glanced towards the front door and wistfully remarked that one would look good there, as well.
"Are you kidding?" he gasped. "You can't just whip these things up, you know. It takes ten years to build a door like this."