"Well, Mrs. O'Connor, so you want a divorce?" the solicitor questioned his client.
"Tell me about it. Do you have a grudge?"
"Oh, no," replied Mrs. O'Connor. "Sure now, we have a carport."
The solicitor tried again. "Well, does the man beat you up?"
"No, no," said Mrs. O'Connor, looking puzzled. "Oi'm always first out of bed."
Still hopeful, the solicitor tried once again.
"What I'm trying to find out are what grounds you have."
"Bless ye, sor. We live in a flat -- not even a window box, let alone grounds."
"Mrs. O'Connor," the solicitor said in considerable exasperation, "you need a reason that the court can consider.
What is the reason for you seeking this divorce?"
"Ah, well now," said the lady, "Sure it's because the man can't hold an intelligent conversation."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......"F*ck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Mrs. Donovan was walking down O'Connell Street in Dublin when she met up with Father Rafferty.
The Father said, "Top o' the mornin' to ye! Aren't ye Mrs. Donovan and didn't I marry ye and yer husband 2 years ago?"
She replied, "Aye, that ye did, Father."
The Father asked, "And be there any wee ones yet?" She replied, "No, not yet, Father."
The Father said, "Well now, I'm going to Rome next week and I'll light a candle for ye and yer husband." She replied, "Oh, thank ye, Father." They parted ways.
Some years later they met again. Father Rafferty asked, "Well now, Mrs. Donovan, how are ye these days?"
She replied, "Oh, very well, Father!"
Father Rafferty asked, "And tell me, have ye any wee ones yet?" She replied, "Oh yes, Father! Three sets of twins and 4 singles, 10 in all!"
Father said, "That's wonderful! How is yer loving husband doing?"
She replied, "E's gone to Rome to blow out yer fookin' candle."
"Tell me about it. Do you have a grudge?"
"Oh, no," replied Mrs. O'Connor. "Sure now, we have a carport."
The solicitor tried again. "Well, does the man beat you up?"
"No, no," said Mrs. O'Connor, looking puzzled. "Oi'm always first out of bed."
Still hopeful, the solicitor tried once again.
"What I'm trying to find out are what grounds you have."
"Bless ye, sor. We live in a flat -- not even a window box, let alone grounds."
"Mrs. O'Connor," the solicitor said in considerable exasperation, "you need a reason that the court can consider.
What is the reason for you seeking this divorce?"
"Ah, well now," said the lady, "Sure it's because the man can't hold an intelligent conversation."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......"F*ck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Mrs. Donovan was walking down O'Connell Street in Dublin when she met up with Father Rafferty.
The Father said, "Top o' the mornin' to ye! Aren't ye Mrs. Donovan and didn't I marry ye and yer husband 2 years ago?"
She replied, "Aye, that ye did, Father."
The Father asked, "And be there any wee ones yet?" She replied, "No, not yet, Father."
The Father said, "Well now, I'm going to Rome next week and I'll light a candle for ye and yer husband." She replied, "Oh, thank ye, Father." They parted ways.
Some years later they met again. Father Rafferty asked, "Well now, Mrs. Donovan, how are ye these days?"
She replied, "Oh, very well, Father!"
Father Rafferty asked, "And tell me, have ye any wee ones yet?" She replied, "Oh yes, Father! Three sets of twins and 4 singles, 10 in all!"
Father said, "That's wonderful! How is yer loving husband doing?"
She replied, "E's gone to Rome to blow out yer fookin' candle."