This is the second anniversary of my dear wife’s death. I know you can tell from my postings that I think of her often. Last night she was in my dreams.
My little cockatiel Pepper (the female of the species) is in egg-laying mode. Of course her eggs are not fertile, but that does not seem to deter her. She doesn’t like to foul her nest -- it’s at the bottom of a small waste basket -- so when she can no longer hold it, she climbs out and poops on the carpet. Here comes the clean-up crew!
Two old friends meet on the street. They haven’t seen each other long time, and are delighted to see one another. “Harry”, says George, “you and your wife must come for dinner sometime soon.” They make the appropriate arrangements, and on the appointed evening Harry and his wife arrive for dinner. The meal is just delightful, and when they are done, the wives retire to the kitchen to chat (and clean up), while the gentlemen go to the living room. “I must tell you, George,” says Harry, “your wife is a marvelous cook. But if you ever want to eat out, just last week my wife and I discovered a great little restaurant.” “Great idea,” says George.” “What’s the name of the restaurant?”
“Um, I need the name of a flower,” says Harry.
“You mean like petunia?”
“No, no, a red flower”
“No, the one with thorns.”
“Oh,you mean rose.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. ROSE,” he hollers, “what was the name of that restaurant we went to last week?”