"Do you expect me to believe that you
were playing golf from seven in the morning until seven in the evening?" a wife asked
her husband. "You should have been home by three."
"Now, let me explain,
Carol," Harry replied. "I got up at dawn and picked Fred up at six A.M.,
but on the way to the course, I had a flat tire. I didn't have a spare, so I had to walk a
couple of miles to the service station. By the time I got back to the car, it was after
nine. Then we ran out of gas, and that cost an hour. We didn't tee-off until
eleven."
"You still should have been home by
three," Carol replied.
"I'm not finished," Harry
explained. "Everything was fine for the first two holes, but then Fred had a heart
attack. I ran to the clubhouse to find a doctor, but no luck. By the time I got back, Fred
was dead. So for the next sixteen holes, it was hit the ball, drag Fred, hit the ball,
drag Fred. . ."
