After being retired for a couple of years and completing all the jobs my wife had lined up for me,
I began to feel somewhat useless and decided to enroll in a couple of courses at the local adult-education school.
I noted, upon registration, that there was no tuition fee for a person over 60.
As I handed my tediously-filled-out papers to the clerk, I announced, "I'm 63."
Then, pulling out my wallet, I asked if she wanted to see my driver's license. She replied, "No, that's okay."
A little surprised, I asked, "Oh, do I look honest?"
"No," she answered. "You look 63."
I found New York City immense and confusing on my first trip there.
One evening during the rush hour, I stopped at a newsstand in the heart of Times Square and asked the vendor which direction was north.
"Look, buddy," he replied in a loud and annoyed voice.
"We go uptown, we got downtown, and we got cross-town. We don't got north."
I had volunteered to help my cousin with moving to a new town house.
Loading the truck went fast, but several of us had to ride in the truck, so the cab of our rented moving truck was crowded.
Too crowded, as there was no room left for my cousin's enormous, black, Great Dane in the cab.
So, laughing, we put him in the driver's seat of the pickup we were towing.
Once on the road, there was a sudden eruption of noise.
We looked back to see the Dane's huge paws resting on the horn while he howled in protest.
As we were about to pull over, another car came alongside the driver, rolled down his window and hollered, "Hey, lady! .... Why don't you let him pass?"
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