Two Nuns and a Six-Pack
One particularly scorching summer afternoon, two nuns were out running errands and decided to stop by a local 7-Eleven to pick up a few items. As they wandered through the aisles, chatting about the heat and their chores, they passed by the store's beer cooler.
Pausing for a moment in front of the icy glass door, one nun sighed and said to the other, “You know, sister, I can’t help but think how refreshing a nice, cold beer would be on an evening like this. Just imagine—sitting on the porch, feeling the breeze, sipping something chilled.”
The second nun gasped softly and glanced around. “Oh, it does sound delightful,” she admitted, “but I’d feel so awkward bringing beer up to the register. I mean, can you imagine the looks we’d get? People would talk.”
Her companion, undeterred, gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, sister. I’ve got this handled. Just follow my lead.”
With that, she confidently opened the cooler, grabbed a six-pack, and strolled up to the checkout counter with the other nun hesitantly trailing behind.
The cashier, a young man with wide eyes, froze for a moment when he saw two women in habits standing before him with a six-pack of beer. Clearly puzzled, he raised an eyebrow.
Before he could say a word, the bolder nun leaned in and said with the utmost sincerity, “Oh, this? We use it for washing our hair. Back at the convent, we call it Catholic shampoo.”
The cashier blinked, trying to process that response. Then, without missing a beat, he reached under the counter, pulled out a pack of pretzel sticks, and added them to their bag.
Looking the nun straight in the eye with a grin, he said, “Well then, the curlers are on the house.”
A Priest, a Nun, and a Blizzard
One wintry evening, a priest and a nun were traveling through a remote region when they were suddenly caught in a fierce blizzard. The snow was falling so thick and fast that they could barely see in front of them, and the cold bit through their clothes like needles. After trudging for what felt like hours, they stumbled upon a small, abandoned cabin tucked into the woods.
Relieved to have found shelter, they stepped inside, shivering and exhausted. The cabin was rustic and empty, with no electricity or running water, but it offered four solid walls and a roof, which was all they needed at that moment.
Inside, they found a small pile of old blankets, a well-worn sleeping bag, and a single narrow bed.
Ever the gentleman, the priest said, “Sister, you take the bed. It’s only right. I’ll sleep on the floor in the sleeping bag.”
The nun hesitated but eventually agreed, thanking him for his kindness. They settled in for the night, each trying to get warm.
About twenty minutes later, just as the priest was starting to doze off, he heard the nun softly call out, “Father... I’m cold.”
Sighing gently, the priest got out of his sleeping bag, took one of the extra blankets, and placed it over her with care. “There you go, Sister. That should help.”
He crawled back into the sleeping bag, zipped it up again, and tried to fall asleep.
Another ten minutes passed. “Father... I’m still cold,” came her voice again, a little more sheepishly this time.
Once more, he got up, fetched another blanket, tucked it around her shoulders, and reassured her.
Finally, back in the sleeping bag, just as his eyes were finally closing, she whispered yet again, “Father... I’m sooooo cold.”
This time, he sat up slowly, rubbed his temples, and looked over at her. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye and a teasing tone, he said, “Sister, I have an idea. We’re alone out here in the middle of nowhere, and no one will ever know. Just for tonight... let’s pretend we’re married.”
The nun paused, then said softly, “Well… alright. If you think it will help.”
The priest smiled, threw up his hands and said, “Good! Then get up and get your own blanket!”
Ah, the sacred institution of marriage—where love meets sarcasm.