One evening, after a long day at work, a man pulled into his driveway and immediately sensed something was wrong. Sitting on the front porch was his wife—arms crossed, sunglasses on, and two large suitcases stacked neatly beside her.
“Just where the heck do you think you’re going?” he demanded, barely out of the car.
Without missing a beat, she stood up and said calmly, “I’m going to Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas?” he snapped. “Why on earth would you do that?”
She smiled sweetly. “Well, I just found out I can make four hundred dollars a night doing what I’ve been giving you for free all these years.”
The man froze. He stared at her for a moment, then suddenly held up a finger.
“Wait right there.”
He rushed inside the house. A few minutes later, he reappeared—dragging two overstuffed suitcases of his own.
Now it was her turn to look shocked.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
He grinned and said, “I’m coming with you. I just want to see how you’re going to live on eight hundred dollars a year!”
A lawyer with a wife and twelve children found himself in a desperate situation. His landlord had terminated the lease, wanting the house back for personal use, and now the lawyer had to find a new place—fast.
But everywhere he went, the moment he mentioned he had twelve children, doors quietly closed. Landlords smiled politely, nodded sympathetically, and then somehow never called back. They all imagined chaos, noise, and a home destroyed by an army of children.
Finally, the lawyer came up with a plan.
One afternoon, he sent his wife on a long walk to the cemetery—with eleven of the kids in tow. He kept just one child with him and went to meet a real estate agent.
They toured several houses, and finally came across one that was perfect: spacious, affordable, and available immediately.
The agent smiled and asked, “So, how many children do you have?”
“Twelve,” the lawyer replied confidently.
The agent blinked. “Twelve? Then where are the others?”
The lawyer sighed deeply, put on his most sorrowful courtroom expression, and said quietly,
“They’re in the cemetery with their mother.”
The agent’s face fell, overcome with sympathy. The paperwork was drawn up immediately.
Moral: It’s not always necessary to lie—sometimes you just need to choose the right words.
Hope this gave you a good laugh 😄