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Our nephew was getting married to a doctor’s daughter. At the wedding reception, the father of the bride stood to read his toast, which he had scribbled on a piece of scrap paper.
Several times during his speech, he halted, overcome with what I assumed was a moment of deep emotion. But after a particularly long pause, he explained, “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to make out what I’ve written down.” Looking out into the audience, he asked, “Is there a pharmacist in the house?”
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