Two little boys were at a wedding when one leaned over to the other and asked, "How many wives can a man have?"
His friend answered, "Sixteen... four better, four worse, four richer, and four poorer."
I was having trouble with the idea of turning 30 and was oversensitive to any signs of advancing age. When I found a prominent gray hair right at the front, I pointed to my forehead.
"Have you seen this?" I indignantly asked my husband.
"What?" he asked. "The wrinkles?"
I had spent the late winter months waiting impatiently for signs of spring. When the first warm, sunny Saturday arrived, I eagerly unlocked the storm door and stepped onto our patio deck.
I was pleased by the sight of green sprouts and the sounds of singing birds. More than anything else, I was delighted in the sweet aroma of the spring air.
Knocking on the kitchen window, I beckoned to my wife to join me in enjoying the pleasures of the season. She quietly brought me back to earth when she reminded me that I was standing over the dryer vent, inhaling the scent of fabric softener.
After his marriage broke up, my manager became very philosophical. "I guess it was in our genes," he sighed.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Her sign is the one for earth. Mine is the one for water. Together we made mud."