“Maybe I’ve set my sights too high,” said my friend. “I’m looking for a job that’s mentally challenging but not intellectually challenging.”

The topic in the office was the high price of divorce. “I should’ve taken out a home improvement loan to pay for my lawyer,” said one disgusted woman. “Can you do that?” I wondered aloud. “She got her stupid husband out of the house, didn’t she?” said a friend. “I’d call that a home improvement.”

Halfway through band rehearsal, we took a pizza break. I put down my drums and grabbed a slice. “You’re so lucky,” said Larry, our trumpet player. “You can eat whatever you want.” I was flattered—no one had complimented me like that in years. Then he continued: “You can eat whatever you want and it won’t get stuck in your mouthpiece.”

My husband used to work as a log-home builder. One day he had an unfortunate run-in with a sledgehammer and my three-year-old daughter, Kiana, was fascinated by his thumb injury. The next day at daycare she was eager to describe it. When the caregiver asked how the accident had happened Kiana shook her head sadly and said, “You know, sometimes at work my daddy just gets hammered.”   
 

Going with a prisoner to the local hospital to have a blood test done was too much for me: I fainted as the needle was inserted into his arm. I was out for only a second, but it was long enough for the inmate to become concerned for my well-being. “You know,” he said, “if you take these cuffs off me, I can drive us back to prison.”
 

For my father’s 50th birthday, his congregation decided to give their pastor a new suit. He was so touched by the gift that the following Sunday he stood before everyone and, with tears in his eyes, announced, “Today I am preaching to you in my birthday suit!”