As the coals from our barbecue burned down, our hosts passed out marshmallows and long roasting forks.
Just then, two fire trucks roared by, sirens blaring, lights flashing. They stopped at a house right down the block. All twelve of us raced out of the back yard, down the street, where we found the owners of the blazing house standing by helplessly.
They glared at us with looks of disgust.
Suddenly, we realized why... we were all still holding our roasting forks with marshmallows on them.
Because I couldn't unplug the toilet with a plunger, I had to dismantle the entire fixture, no small feat for a non-plumber. Jammed inside the drain was a purple rubber dinosaur, which belonged to my five-year-old son. I painstakingly got all the toilet parts together again, the tank filled, and I flushed it.
However, it didn't work much better than before. As I pondered what to do next, my son walked into the bathroom. I pointed to the purple dinosaur I had just dislodged and told him that the toilet still wasn't working.
"Did you get the green one, too?" he asked.
Gladys: "Listen to this, Mable. This is what my boy friend says in his letter. 'Darling, I think of you all day. Your naturally waved hair. Your brownish-gray eyes. Your slightly prominent cheekbones and your twenty-four inch waist.'"
Mable: "Wow, that's a strange sort of love letter."
Gladys: "Oh, didn't I tell you? Bob writes those descriptions of people that are wanted by the law."