The Perfect Husband.

Several men are in the changing room of a golf club. A mobile phone on a bench rings and a man engages the hands free speaker-function and began to talk.

Everyone else in the room stops to listen.

MAN: "Hello"

WOMAN: "Darling, it's me. Are you at the club?"

MAN: "Yes"

WOMAN: "I am at the shopping centre and found this beautiful leather
coat. It's only Rs.1,000. Is it OK if I buy it?"

MAN: "Sure,..go ahead if you like it that much."

WOMAN: "I also stopped by the Mercedes dealership and saw the new 2005
models. I saw one I really liked."

MAN: "How much?"

WOMAN: "Rs7,00,000"

MAN: "OK, but for that price I want it with all the options."

WOMAN: "Great! Oh, and one more thing ... The house I wanted last year
is back on the market. They're asking Rs.11,50,000"

MAN: "Well, then go ahead and give them an offer of 11,00,000. They
will probably take it. If not, we can go the extra 50 thousand. It
really
is a pretty good price."

WOMAN: "OK. I'll see you later! I love you so much!!"


MAN: "Bye! I love you, too."


The man hangs up. The other men in the changing room are staring at him
in astonishment, mouths agape.....


He smiles and asks:



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"Anyone knows who this mobile belongs to?"

Learn to appreciate !!

Tags: to praise is an art

A man raced down the hospital steps one rainy day and jumped into a passing bus with the remark, “What a beautiful day it is!” The rain was pouring in torrents, it was dreadfully cold and everyone was bemoaning the foul weather. The conductor remarked, half amused, “You must be mad, Mister, to call this a beautiful day.”

“You’d be as mad with delight”, the man replied with enthusiasm, “If you also had recovered your sight after three years of blindness.”

We should learn to appreciate what we have. Let us enjoy the pleasures that are ours, instead of pining for those we miss. The following little verse may be remembered in this context.

Winter makes us long for Spring
Darkness for the dawn;
We always seem to miss them most,
Our playmates when they’re gone . . .

Luv
Nancy