A Problem of Problems
A young couple decided to wed.

As the big day approached, they grew apprehensive.

Each had a problem they had never before shared with anyone, not even each other.

The Groom-to-be, overcoming his fear, decided to ask his father for advice.

"Father," he said, "I am deeply concerned about the success of my marriage."

His father replied, "Don't you love this girl?"

"Oh yes, very much," he said, "but you see, I have very smelly feet, and I'm afraid that my fiance will be put off by them."

"No problem," said dad, "all you have to do is wash your feet as often as possible, and always wear socks, even to bed."

Well, to him this seemed a workable solution.

The bride-to-be, overcoming her fear, decided to take her problem up with her mom.

"Mom," she said, "When I wake up in the morning my breath is truly awful."

"Honey," her mother consoled, "everyone has bad breath in the morning."

"No, you don't understand,. My morning breath is so bad, I'm afraid that my fiance will not want to sleep in the same room with me."

Her mother said simply, "Try this. In the morning, get straight out of bed, and head for the kitchen and make breakfast. While the family is busy eating, move on to the bathroom and brush your teeth. The key is, not to say a word until you've brushed your teeth."

"I shouldn't say good morning or anything?" the daughter asked.

"Not a word," her mother affirmed.

"Well, it's certainly worth a try," she thought.

The loving couple were finally married. Not forgetting the advice each had received, he with his perpetual socks and she with her morning silence, they managed quite well.

That is, until about six months later. Shortly before dawn one morning, the husband wakes with a start to find that one of his socks had come off.

Fearful of the consequences, he frantically searches the bed. This, of course, wakes his bride and without thinking, she asks, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, my," he replies, "you've swallowed my sock!"

An ode to old age
There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.

I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?

Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart