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Before I got to the party I decided I was going to tell sort of
a funny story I had heard in my taxicab, just as a simple contribution
to liven things up. I mean, if you're at a party, and you're not
throwing coals on the fire, what the heck? So after about four helpings
of Peking Duck and a fair balance of Havi's tomatoes, I turned to
Virginia and Linda, who were standing nearby and began, "I
heard a funny story in my taxicab." (Now didn't I just say
that at the beginning of this paragraph? That's the way I felt launching
into the story: as if it was slightly forced.)
Continuing, "A passenger told me about a man and woman in
Montana, getting on in years, and the man had become terminally
ill. So, between them, they decided to simply put an end to his
simply-lived life by killing him. With that, the man took a shotgun
and shot himself dead. So the woman went to town and decided the
best way to tell the townsfolk about her husband's death was to
put an ad in the newspaper.
"She went to the newspaper's offices and said, 'I want to
place an ad.' Taking out a notepad and pencil, the editor said,
'Mary, what should the ad say?' 'SAM'S DEAD,' she simply said. 'Mary,
you know ... you get five words for the same price as two ...
Would you like to say anything else?'"
Now at this point in my story I noticed Linda looking a little
strained, and Virginia had begun to look a little too polite, and
I hadn't really figured out what this mounting tension was about,
as I continued ... "All right, Mary said, 'SAM'S DEAD.
SHOTGUN FOR SALE.'"
Then I realized, to my horror, Sam is Linda's son, and as I looked
at her (the two of them laughing three or four strokes of polite
laughter, then turning slightly away), the thought froze between
me and Linda backing away, and with me holding my breath, said
nothing to make it worse.
Not that putting your foot in your mouth at a party is such a bad
thing. It's just so much more fun when it stays on the floor.
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