Mr. Smith comes to his wife, "Honey, could you be sewing on a wee button that's come off of my fly? I cannot button my pants."
"Oh Dear ... I've got me hands in the dishpan, go up the stairs and see if Mrs. Jones could be helping you with it."
About five minutes later there's a terrible crash, a bang, a bit of yelling and the sound of a body falling down the stairs. Walking back in the door with a blackened eye and a bloody nose comes Mr. Smith. Mrs. Smith looks at him and says, "My god, what happened to you? Did you ask her like I told you?"
"Yeah," says Mr. Smith. "I asked her to sew on the wee button and she did. Everything was going fine but when she bent on to bite off the wee thread, Mr. Jones walked in..."
"Oh Dear ... I've got me hands in the dishpan, go up the stairs and see if Mrs. Jones could be helping you with it."
About five minutes later there's a terrible crash, a bang, a bit of yelling and the sound of a body falling down the stairs. Walking back in the door with a blackened eye and a bloody nose comes Mr. Smith. Mrs. Smith looks at him and says, "My god, what happened to you? Did you ask her like I told you?"
"Yeah," says Mr. Smith. "I asked her to sew on the wee button and she did. Everything was going fine but when she bent on to bite off the wee thread, Mr. Jones walked in..."
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