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Giggles and Chuckles Galore

Giggles and Chuckles Galore

The phone rang. It was a salesman from a mortgage refinance

company. “Do you have a second mortgage on your home?”

“No,” I replied.

“Would you like to consolidate all your debts?”

“I really don’t have any,” I said.

“How about freeing up cash for home improvements?” he tried.

“I don’t need any. I just recently had some done and paid

cash,” I parried.

There was a brief silence, and then he asked, “Are you

looking for a husband?”


According to a news report, a certain private school in

Washington was recently faced with a unique problem. A

number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick

and would put it on in the Bathroom. That was fine, but

after they put on their lipstick they would press their

lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.


Every night the maintenance man would remove them and the

next day the girls would put them back. Finally the

principal decided that something had to be done.


She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there

with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip

prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who

had to clean the mirrors every night (you can just imagine

the yawns from the little princesses).


To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the

mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls

how much effort was required.


He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the

toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it.

Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.


Having grown up just outside New York City, I barely knew a

cow from an ear of corn. Until, that is, I married a small-

town Ohio girl. While I was in seminary school, I had a

temporary assignment at a church in a rural community. The

day of my first sermon, I tried very hard to fit in. Maybe

too hard.

With my wife sitting in the first pew, I began my discourse:

“I never saw a cow until I met my wife.”


Flying through the Midwest in the summertime means one

thing: turbulence. I was working as a flight attendant on

one particular flight when we hit a patch of very rough

air just after a young teenager, obviously on her first

flight, had entered the bathroom. After the bumps had sub-

sided, she exited the bathroom, a look of sheer terror

etched on her face.

“Are you all right?” I asked as I helped her to her seat.

“Don’t worry, that turbulence was as bad as it gets.”

“So that’s what it was,” she said. “I thought I’d pushed

the wrong button.”