Proud jokes

A young Greek couple got married, and at their wedding...

...the mother of the bride took the bride aside for a quick chat.

"My sweet," she said, "you're now a woman. I'm so proud. Some advice for you now that you're married: Greek men are very particular, and at some point when you're making love to your new husband, he might suggest that you 'turn around,' if you know what I mean. If that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, do not feel pressured to say yes."

The bride thanked her mother for the advice, and the wedding continued. That night, as she and her husband consummated the marriage, she was mildly surprised to learn that he never asked her to 'turn around.'

They spent a beautiful week together on their honeymoon and made love many times. But still, to her mild surprise, her husband never asked her to 'turn around.'

Their one year anniversary arrived, and they made love to celebrate the milestone. But again, to her mild surprise, the husband never asked her to 'turn around.' This continued for years: their second anniversary, third, fourth...

Finally, on their fifth anniversary, her husband started getting romantic with her in bed and said, "Honey, we've been married for five years. I was thinking we maybe try something new. I thought this time you could 'turn around,' if you know what I mean."

She replied, emphatically, "No! No, I do not do that, I am not that kind of woman!"

Without getting defensive, her husband simply said, "That's all well and good, honey. But I thought you said you wanted children?"

A woman decides to have a face lift for her 50th birthday.

She spends $15,000 and looks sensational. On her way home, she stops at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving, she says to the clerk, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?”

“About 32,” is the reply.

“Nope! I’m exactly 50,” the woman says happily.

A little while later she goes into McDonald’s and asks the counter girl the very same question.

The girl replies, “I’d guess about 29.” The woman replies with a big smile, “Nope, I’m 50.”

Now she’s feeling really good about herself. She stops at a candy shop on her way down the street.

She goes up to the counter to get some mints and asks the assistant the same burning question.

The clerk responds, “Oh, I’d say 30.”

Again she proudly responds, “I’m 50, but thank you!”

While waiting for the bus to go home, she asks an old man waiting next to her the same question.

He replies, “Lady, I’m 78 and my eyesight is going. Although, when I was young there was a sure-fire way to tell how old a woman was. It sounds very forward, but it requires you to let me put my hands under your bra. Then, and only then I can tell you EXACTLY how old you are.”

They wait in silence on the empty street until her curiosity gets the better of her. She finally blurts out, “What the hell, go ahead.”

He slips both of his hands under her blouse and begins to feel around very slowly and carefully. He bounces and weighs each breast and he gently pinches each nipple. He pushes her breasts together and rubs them against each other.

After a couple of minutes of this, she says, “Okay, okay... How old am I?”

He completes one last squeeze of her breasts, removes his hands, and says, “Madam, you are 50.”

Stunned and amazed, the woman says, “That was incredible, how could you tell?”

“I was behind you at McDonalds’."

The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"

Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!

The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.

For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!

The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!

In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.

"The little horse wins!"

"Lath, an easy winner!"

"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"

People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.

Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.

"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."

Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.

A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.

"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"

Agba leaned forward in his saddle.

There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."

How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.

The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.

Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.

He had kept his word!

For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.

The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in...