A wife got so mad at her husband she packed his bags and told him to get out.

As he walked to the door she yelled, "I hope you die a long, slow, painful death."

He turned around and said, "So, you want me to stay?"

I was halfway through a meeting with a photocopy salesman, when he suddenly mentioned his wife and children, and how content and happy he was.

I was puzzled, but let him continue. It was only when I glanced down that I understood his reason for imparting this personal information. The table leg against which I had been rubbing my itchy foot wasn’t a table leg at all.

In the Moreno Valley (Calif.) Recycler:

"Homing pigeons free to good home. Must live far, far away."

When we finished a personality assessment at work, I asked my friend Dan if he would share the results with his wife.

"That would require me to go home and say, ‘Hi, honey. I just paid someone $400 to tell me what’s wrong with me,’" he said.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked.

"Well, based on that, and considering we’ve been married 23 years, she’d probably hand me a bill for $798,000."