There are women whose thoughtful husbands buy them flowers for no reason. And then there’s me. One day I couldn’t stand it any longer. "Why don’t you ever bring me flowers?" I asked.
"What’s the point?" my husband said. "They die after about a week."
"So could you," I shot back, "but I still like having you around."
My wife and her friend Karen were talking about their labor-saving devices as they pulled into our driveway. Karen said, “I love my new garage-door opener.”
“I love mine too,” my wife replied, and honked the horn three times. That was the signal for me to come out and open the garage.
I was cleaning a hotel room when the previous occupant came in, looking for her husband’s keys.
We searched high and low without luck. I finally peeked underneath the bed closest to the wall.
"Don’t bother—that was my bed," she said. "He wouldn’t have gone anywhere near it."