The Gender Gap

Two travelling salesmen were on the road together. They were Belgians, but one day went down to the north of France. As they were driving down the highway, the suddenly saw this big banner spanned across the road:

WIN ONE HOUR OF FREE SEX!
Turn in at petrol station at next service area!

 

They looked at each other. They went into the petrol station. A man filled up their car with petrol.  They were a bit hesitant. “Uhm!, this banner across the road. You could win something? Is that here?” one of them asked. “It’s here”, the petrol pump assistant answered. “It is very simple. I think of a number between 1 and 10, and you have to guess which number. To make it easier I will let both of you guess, then you have a better chance of winning”.

“5” said the first one. “7” said the second one. “I’m sorry” said the petrol pump assistant, I was thinking of the number 3”.

Some days later they were in France again. The decided to try their luck again. But with different numbers this time.  They decided on “4” and “6”, but the correct number was “2”.

They were often in France, and they tried many times, but they never guessed the correct number.

One evening they were on their way back home. One was driving, the other one was thinking. “You know what?” said the one, who was thinking. “ I have been thinking, and I think there’s no way you can win that hour of free sex.”

“Nonsense” said the other one. “Of course you can win. My wife won three times last week!”.

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A friend told me this joke several years ago. Normally I can’t remember jokes no matter how hard I try, but this one I can’t forget.

Answer blowing in the Wind

“You know how you can tell, who wears the trousers, the husband or the wife?”

It was my granddad asking. My brother and I were sitting in the horse-drawn cart. My granddad owned a small farmstead – nothing much, just a few cows, some pigs, two work horses and just enough land to support a family.

To make a bit of extra money he collected milk from the nearby farms every morning to deliver it to the dairy in town. The farmers placed their cans at the roadside and he came along with his horse-drawn cart to pick it up.

He did it very early in the morning, and when we were on holiday we were sometimes allowed to come along. We were woken by our mother, and were of course very excited. I still recall the smell of horses and the sound of hoofs on the road.

This year I must have been about eight years old. My granddad, who was generally not very talkative, must have felt that he ought to impart some of the wisdom gained in a long and simple life in an environment that no longer held any surprises for him to me and my brother. We were approaching a small farm, when he asked the question. “How do you tell, who’s in charge?”.

We didn’t know, of course. “Well” he said, “first you look at the leaves of the trees or at a flag or something to determine the direction of the wind. Then you look at the smoke coming out of the chimney. If the smoke goes in the direction of the wind, it means that the wife is in command, if the smoke goes in the opposite direction, it means that the husband wears the trousers.

Reversing into Trouble

He’s been involved in another traffic incident. My father, that is. It’s the second one in the last two months.

The first time an idiot bumped into him while he was at a standstill at a red light.

The second time he backed up into an idiot at a standstill behind him.

My father had realised, that he was in the wrong lane and wanted to reverse to be able to cross to the correct lane. He hadn’t seen the car behind him. Fortunately there was only little damage.

He came to me to have me help him fill in the insurance papers.

“Had he talked to the people in the other car?”. He had. It was a married couple from Germany. “Or at least the woman was German. He didn’t know if the man was also German, but he knew that they were married, because it was only the woman talking.”

We filled in the papers. I was in contact with the insurance agent. No problem. My father has driven a car for many years without any accidents – until recently. It could be pure chance, but it could also be old age setting in. And, of course, now that he has retired, he spends more time on the roads.

I have seen that the government has introduced a plan to keep the elderly on the labour market for a longer time. Up to the age of 67 in some cases. It must be a long overdue realisation that it’s safer to have them on the labour market than on the roads.

Closer to Perfection

The closer we get to perfection, the harder it becomes to find good New Year’s resolutions.

Mine is that in the new year I will go to the fitness centre on a regular basis. Like last year – only this time I won’t give us as easily.

Last year everything went well at the beginning. I even got a friend there. John was his name. I used to come in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays after work. So did John.

One Monday when  I came in John asked, “didn’t they tell you that the centre is reserved for the really tough ones on Mondays?”  I didn’t know. “You didn’t get their email?” he asked. I hadn’t received anything.  Anyway, twice a week would be sufficient for me.

A couple of weeks later, when I came to the centre on a Wednesday, he asked “didn’t you get the mail? Wednesday is now reserved for the handsome and the beautiful? There are too many people coming, and not enough machines.” I had not received the mail, but I decided to come in only on Fridays.

Then one Friday John asked me. “Didn’t you get the mail? Friday is now reserved exclusively for the intelligent. You didn’t get the mail?” I told him I haven’t received anything. “Strange” he said, “very strange, I have received a copy everyday for the last ten days.”

That’s when I decided to give it up. But it will be different this time. There’s a window in the men’s changing room that is almost always open. I will get in that way in case of restrictions. And who knows? After a year of fitness I might be real tough, handsome and intelligent like John.

It's what's inside that counts

Save the wrapping paper, save the world

Climate is changing. Resources are not inexhaustible. There will be generations after ours, and we have to leave them an inhabitable earth.

We therefore reuse the wrapping paper of our Christmas presents. The presents are opened carefully using a pair of scissors in order not to tear the paper. The paper is then solemnly folded and carefully and put in bags (mentally marked “good conscience”) and stored for reuse the following year.

 We are a large family and for Christmas we were 16 people. The average taking must have been around 15 presents for everyone. Every present is opened carefully, passed around to be admired and added to the receivers’ stack of presents. Many of them will be probably be put aside never to be looked at again.

My brother-in-law apparently was getting a bit upset with the slow progress, the prospect of the exercise having to be adjourned in order to be continued the following day – which seems to have become our private Christmas tradition - and the general overabundance of socks (after all you only have two feet).

He was in such a hurry to get on with the unpacking that he tore the paper. I looked at him disapprovingly.

- Oh! Come on, he retorted.

- This is like flying supersonic from Europe to New York to go out for an evening meal. Walking two blocks from the hotel to the restaurant to save fuel, and then look deridingly at people arriving from their New York home in a taxi.

Secretly I tend to agree with him. The less wrapping paper that is used again, the better for the world. That is, if new wrapping paper is not used instead.

 

Four Vegetarians and a Muslim for Xmas

It has been confirmed. The guest list for Christmas includes four vegetarians and a Muslim. The family is growing. The young ones have chosen their own ways of life, and some have found their partners for life outside the social circles of their parents.

 

We have all been together before. And we have had a fine time together. Our own diet has already changed over the years. Cutting back on meat - even a couple of days every week with vegetarian meals. No problem – well, no BIG problem. 

But Christmas Dinner! Traditions rule when it comes to celebrating Christmas. Roast duck or roast pork is tradition. Quorn and tofu is found nowhere in the Holiday recipes passed on by the Grannies. Pork was a predominant nutritional element in my own family’s many days of Christmas feasting. Alcoholic brewerages were by no way banned.

 

Well, anyway. Christmas should maybe not only be about eating and drinking. The table is as much the people around it as the food upon it. So let’s celebrate family and friendship. Old traditions die, new traditions are born.

 

The other night, In an absurd dream, I saw myself outside the church, waiting for people to come out after the mass. Finally my wife is there. What’s the news? I ask. “It's a boy, and his is a vegetarian”, she said.

So, COEXIST AND EAT WHAT'S ON YOUR PLATE.