One Saturday afternoon, Big Seamus was left in charge of his three-year-old daughter, Siobhán, while the mother, Eileen, was out at the market. Siobhán was obsessed with a little plastic tea set her Nana had bought her, and she was busy “working” in the kitchen.
Seamus was parked in his recliner, halfway through a Guinness and fully engrossed in the Guardians game, when Siobhán toddles in.
“Tea, Daddy?” she asks, holding up a tiny plastic cup filled with lukewarm water.
“Ah, bless ya, darlin’,” Seamus says. He drains the tiny cup in one go. “That’s the finest drop of brew in all of Cuyahoga County! Best tea I’ve ever had.”
Every ten minutes, Siobhán returns with a fresh refill, and every time, Seamus gives her a standing ovation. “You’re a saint, Siobhán! A natural-born publican, you are!”
Eventually, Eileen walks through the front door. Seamus hushes her immediately. “Eileen, drop the bags! You’ve got to see this. The wee lass has been serving me tea all afternoon. She’s like a little angel from County Cork.”
They stand there in the hallway, Eileen watching with a skeptical eye, as Siobhán wanders back into the living room with a fresh cup. Seamus takes it with a flourish, toasts his wife, and knocks it back with a grin.
Eileen stares at the tiny cup, then looks at her husband, then looks toward the hallway.
“Seamus,” she says, her voice as dry as a Sunday sermon. “You’re a grandfather, truly. But did it ever occur to your thick, Guinness-soaked skull that the only place in this entire house that child can reach the water is the porcelain throne in the downstairs bath?”
The Sanctuary
A tired-looking old Golden Retriever wanders into the yard of a quiet house in Fairview Park. He looks well-fed and wears a collar, so clearly, he’s no stray. He gives the homeowner a polite wag, follows him inside, curls up on the rug, and snores for two hours straight. Then, he gets up, trots to the door, and disappears.
This happens every day for a week. Finally, the homeowner—curious as to why this dog treats his living room like a Marriott—tucks a note into the dog’s collar:
“To the owners: Your lovely dog has been coming to my house every afternoon for a nap. He’s a perfect gentleman, but I’m just wondering if he’s okay?”
The next day, the dog arrives for his nap with a fresh note pinned to his collar:
“He lives with the Murphys. Between the six kids, the twin toddlers, the two barking Terriers, and my wife’s three sisters who moved in for Lent, the poor lad is just trying to find a place where no one is screaming or pulling his tail. P.S. Is there room on the rug for me tomorrow? I’ll bring a 6-pack of Guinness.”
The Postcard
For several years, a man was having a secret affair with a beautiful Italian woman. One night, she confided in him that she was pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he offered her a large sum of money to move back to Italy to secretly have the child. He promised to provide child support until the kid turned 18, provided she stayed there.
She agreed but asked how he would know when the baby was born. To keep it discrete, he told her: “Just mail me a postcard and write ‘Spaghetti’ on the back. I’ll take care of the rest.”
One day, several months later, he came home to find his wife looking completely baffled.
“Honey,” she said, “you received a very strange postcard today. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
“Oh, just give it here and I’ll explain it later,” he said.
The wife handed it over and watched as her husband read the card, turned white as a sheet, and fainted dead away. On the back of the card was written:
“Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. Three with meatballs, two without. Send extra sauce.”
The Moral of the Story
One morning, the husband returns the boat to their lakeside cottage after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although she isn’t familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out herself.
She motors out a short distance, anchors, puts her feet up, and begins to read her book. The peace and solitude are magnificent. Along comes a Fish and Game Warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says, “Good morning, Ma’am. What are you doing?”
“Reading a book,” she replies, thinking, isn’t that obvious?
“You’re in a Restricted Fishing Area,” he informs her.
“I’m sorry, officer, but I’m not fishing. I’m reading.”
“Yes, but I see you have all the equipment,” he says. “For all I know, you could start at any moment. I’ll have to take you in and write you up.”
“If you do that,” the woman says calmly, “I’ll have to charge you with sexual assault.”
“But I haven’t even touched you!” says the shocked Game Warden.
“That’s true,” she says, without looking up from her page. “But you have all the equipment. For all I know, you could start at any moment.”
“Have a nice day, Ma’am,” he said, and he left.
MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It’s likely she can also think.
Morality Lesson #2
Young Liam invited his mother over to the flat for a Sunday roast. During the meal, Liam’s mother, Mary, couldn’t help but notice how stunning Liam’s “roommate,” Siobhán, was. Mary had been suspicious of the arrangement for months, and watching the way they passed the salt only made her more certain.
Reading his mother’s mind, Liam leaned in. “Now, Ma, I know what you’re thinking, but I swear—Siobhán and I are just roommates. We each have our own room and that’s the end of it.”
A week later, Siobhán comes to Liam. “Ever since your mother was here for the roast, I’ve been unable to find the heavy silver gravy ladle. You don’t suppose she swiped it to teach us a lesson, do you?”
Liam scoffed. “My mother? A thief? I doubt it, but I’ll send her a note just to settle your mind.” He sat down and wrote:
Dear Ma,
I’m not saying you “did” take the silver ladle from the house, and I’m not saying you “did not” take the ladle. But the fact remains that it’s been missing ever since you were here for the Sunday roast.
Love, Liam
Three days later, he gets a card in the mail with a shamrock on the envelope. It read:
My Dear Son Liam,
I’m not saying that you “do” sleep with Siobhán, and I’m not saying that you “do not” sleep with Siobhán. But the fact remains that if Siobhán were sleeping in her own bed like a good Catholic girl, she’d have found the ladle under her pillow a week ago.
Tell her I’ll see her at Mass.
Love, Mother
LESSON OF THE DAY: Never lie to your mother.
