All in a Day’s Work

Reader's Digest Asia Pacific - - All in a Day’s Work -

CROSSED WIRES A lawyer was ques­tion­ing a man about his pend­ing di­vorce. “What are the grounds for your di­vorce?”

“About one-and-a-half hectares and a nice home with a stream run­ning by,” he said.

“No,” the lawyer replied, “I mean what are your re­la­tions like?”

“I have an aunt and un­cle liv­ing here in town, and so does my wife.”

The lawyer per­sisted, “Do you have a real grudge?”

“No,” he replied, “we have a drive­way – we never needed one.”

“Please,” the lawyer said, get­ting im­pa­tient, “has there been in­fi­delity in your mar­riage?”

“Yes, both my son and daugh­ter have stereo sets,” replied the man.

Frus­trated, the lawyer cried, “Sir, why do you want a di­vorce?”

“Oh, I don’t,” the man replied. “My wife does. She claims she’s hav­ing dif­fi­culty com­mu­ni­cat­ing with me.” SUB­MIT­TED BY CATHER­INE HIS­COX SEE­ING IS BE­LIEV­ING I used to ser­vice ra­dios for the lo­cal fly­ing club. I’d fin­ished a job on the plane when the owner – a rather el­derly gen­tle­man – asked me if I’d like to join him for a flight.

On re­turn­ing to the air­field, the ap­proach was a bit shaky. The wheels hit the ground with an almighty bump and the air­field con­troller came on the ra­dio and said, “That’s the best ‘con­trolled crash’ I’ve ever seen.” My el­derly pi­lot turned to me and said, “Don’t tell him, but I was wear­ing the wrong glasses. These are for read­ing only!” SUB­MIT­TED BY ALAN AN­DREWS HARD TO IM­PRESS I was per­form­ing my mu­si­cal act at a pri­mary school one day. The prin­ci­pal charged all the kids 50 cents each to im­press upon them that art isn’t free. As the kinder­garten­ers filed in, one scowl­ing lit­tle boy fixed me with a hard stare and said, “This had bet­ter be worth the money.” I can hon­estly say that was the most stress­ful gig I’ve ever played. SUB­MIT­TED BY GERRI GRIBI

WELL SUMMED UP Upon fin­ish­ing a maths unit, I wanted to as­sess my kinder­garten stu­dents’ grasp of the con­cepts of a dozen and a half-dozen. Tak­ing a child aside, I asked: “If you have 12 dough­nuts, I’d call that one dozen. If I ate half those dough­nuts, and you had only six left, what would you call that?” With lit­tle hands to hips, she in­haled sharply and huffed, “Well! I’d call that rude!” SUB­MIT­TED BY DEB EL­LIS

“And where do you see your­self six lives from now?”

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