madam madam

The story is told of a lady who was rather old fashioned, always quite delicate and elegant, especially in her language. She and her husband were planning a weeks vacation to Florida, so she wrote to a particular campground asking for a reservation. She wanted to make sure the campground was fully equipped, but didn’t quite know how to ask about the toilet facilities.

She just couldn’t bring herself to write the word “toilet” in her letter. After much deliberation, she finally came up with the old fashioned term BATHROOM COMMODE, but when she wrote that down, she thought she was being too forward. So she started all over again, rewrote the entire letter and referred to the bathroom commode merely as the “BC”. “Does the campground have its own BC?” is what she actually wrote.

Well, the campground owner wasn’t old-fashioned at all and when he got the letter he just couldn’t figure out what the woman was talking about. That “BC” business really stumped him. After worrying about it for awhile he showed the letter to several campers, but they couldn’t figure out what the lady meant either. So the campground owner finally coming to the conclusion that the lady must be asking about the local Baptist Church, sat down and wrote the lady the following reply.

Dear Madam,

I regret very much the delay in answering your letter, but I now take great pleasure in informing you that a BC is located nine miles north of the campground and is capable of seating 250 people at one time. I admit it is quite a distance away, if you are in the habit of going regularly, but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it. They usually arrive early and stay late. It is such a beautiful facility and the acoustics are marvelous; even the normal delivery sounds can be heard. The last time my wife and I went was six years ago, and it was so crowded we had to stand up the whole time we were there. It may interest you to know that right now there is a supper planned to raise money to buy more seats. They are going to hold it in the basement of the BC. I would like to say it pains me very much not being able to go more regularly, but it is surely no lack of desire on my part. As we grow older it seems to be more of an effort, particularly in cold weather. If you decide to come down to our campground, perhaps I could go with you the first time you go, sit with you, and introduce you to all the other folks. (Remember, this is a friendly community.)

A tourist in a strange town notices that her watch is broken. She starts looking for a repair shop.

After a long and frustrating search she finds herself in an area where many shop signs are in Hebrew.

Finally, she notices that one of the stores has all kinds of clocks and watches ticking merrily in the window. She walks into the shop and puts her watch on the counter in front of the proprietor.

“Would you please repair this watch?” asked the tourist.

“Madam, I cannot repair your watch,” replied the man.

“But why not? It is an ordinary model”

“Madam, I do not repair watches. I am a moel, I perform circumcisions”

“Then why on earth do you have all these clocks in your window?”

“Well, and what should I have in my window?”

Style and fashion intrude into all walks of our lives.

Two fellows, who had been rivals all their lives, followed different career paths. One eventually became an Admiral in the Navy, and the other went into the Catholic Church and became a Bishop.

As fate would have it, they happened to meet at the airport.

The Bishop spied the Admiral first and said loudly, “OH, SKYCAP, FROM WHAT PIER IS THE FLIGHT TO DALLAS LEAVING?”

The Admiral approached, bowed, and said, “Pier 7, Madame, but should you be traveling in your condition?”

A big, burly man visited the pastor’s home and asked to see the minister’s wife, a woman well known for her charitable impulses.

“Madam,” he said in a broken voice, “I wish to draw your attention to the terrible plight of a poor family in this district. The father is dead, the mother is too ill to work, and the nine children are starving. They are about to be turned into the cold, empty streets unless someone pays their rent, which amounts to $400.”

“How terrible!” exclaimed the preacher’s wife. Touched by the sensitivity of a man with such a gruff appearance, she asked, “May I ask who you are?”

The sympathetic visitor applied his handkerchief to his eyes. “I’m their landlord,” he sobbed.

Baby Photographer

The Smiths had no children and decided to use a proxy father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, “I’m off. The man should be here soon.”

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. “Good morning madam. You don’t know me but I’ve come to….”

“Oh, no need to explain. I’ve been expecting you,” Mrs. Smith cut in.

“Really?” the photographer asked. “Well, good! I’ve made a specialty of babies.”

“That’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat. Just where do we start?” asked Mrs. Smith, blushing.

“Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out.”

“Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work for Harry and me.”

“Well, madam, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results.”

“I hope we can get this over with quickly,” gasped Mrs. Smith.

“Madam, in my line of work, a man must take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but you’d be disappointed with that, I’m sure.”

“Don’t I know!!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. “This was done on the top of a bus in downtown London.”

“Oh my god!!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, tugging at her handkerchief.

“And these twins turned out exceptionally well when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.” The photographer handed Mrs. Smith the picture.

“She was difficult?” asked Mrs. Smith.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to Hyde Park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep, pushing to get a good look.”

“Four and five deep?” asked Mrs. Smith, eyes widened in amazement.

“Yes”, the photographer said. “And for more than three hours too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling. I could hardly concentrate. Then darkness approached and I began to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just packed it all in.”

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. “You mean they actually chewed on your, eh……equipment?”

“That’s right. Well madam, if you’re ready, I’ll set up my tripod so that we can get to work.”

“Tripod?” Mrs. Smith looked extremely worried now.

“Oh yes, I have to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big for me to hold while I’m getting ready for action. Madam? Madam?… Good Lord, she’s fainted!”