On their anniversary night, the husband sat his wife sat down in the den with her favorite magazine, turned on the soft reading lamp, slipped off her shoes, patted and propped her feet and announced that he was preparing dinner all by himself.
“How romantic!” she thought.
Two-and-a-half hours later, she was still waiting for dinner to be served. She tiptoed to the kitchen and found it in a colossal mess.
Her harried husband, removing something indescribable from the smoking oven, saw her in the doorway. “Almost ready!” he vowed. “Sorry it took me so long — I had to refill the pepper shaker.”
“Why, honey, how long could that have taken you?”
“More’n an hour, I reckon. Wasn’t easy stuffin’ it through those dumb little holes.”