A client recently brought her two cats to my husband’s veterinary clinic for their annual checkup. One was a small-framed, round tiger-striped tabby, while the other was a long, sleek black cat.
She watched closely as I put each on the scale. “They weigh about the same,” I told her.
“That proves it!” she exclaimed. “Black does make you look slimmer and stripes make you look fat.”
When I announced that I was getting married, my excited mother said, “You have to have the rehearsal dinner someplace opulent, where there’s dancing.”
My father, seeing where this was heading, said, “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to elope.”
“And you have to have a breakfast, for the people who are coming from out of town.”
“We’ll need a photographer. Oh, and what colors do you want for the reception?”
We eloped to Spain.
Studying our wedding photos, my six-year-old asked, “Did you marry Dad because he was good-looking?”
“Not really,” I replied.
“Did you marry him for his money?”
“Definitely not,” I laughed. “He didn’t have any.”
“So,” he said, “you just felt sorry for him?”
Just before Easter, I remarked to my husband that with the children grown and away from home, this was the first year that we hadn’t dyed eggs and had an Easter-egg hunt.
“That’s all right, honey,” he said. “We can just hide each other’s vitamin pills.”