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On the first night of their honeymoon, the husband isn’t sure how to tell his bride about his stinky feet and smelly socks, while the wife is wondering how to break the news to him about her awful breath. So far, she’s been able to cover up.
After some soul-searching, the husband gathers his nerve and says, “I have a confession.” She draws closer, peers into his eyes, and says, “Darling, so do I.” Recoiling, he says, “Don’t tell me — you’ve eaten my socks.”
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“What time does the library open?” the man on the phone asked.
“Nine A.M.” came the reply. “And what’s the idea of calling me at home in the middle of the night to ask a question like that?” “Not until nine A.M.?” the man asked in a disappointed voice. “No, not till nine A.M.!” the librarian said. “Why do you want to get in before nine A.M.?” “Who said I wanted to get in?” the man sighed sadly. “I want to get out.”
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