One morning, a lady discovers a note from her husband on the refrigerator.
My lovely spouse,
You will undoubtedly see that, at fifty-seven, you are unable to meet all of my needs. You are a wonderful wife, and I am really delighted with you. I thus hope that after reading this letter, you won’t misunderstand that I’ll be spending the evening in the Comfort Inn hotel with my 19-year-old secretary.
I’ll be home before midnight, so don’t be offended. The man discovered the following message on the dining table when he returned home late that evening.
My beloved spouse,
I appreciate your candor on my age—57—and I have received your mail. This is my chance to tell you that you are also fifty-seven years old.
As you are aware, I work at our local college as a math teacher. As you peruse this, I will be at the Hotel Fiesta with one of my students, Michael, who also happens to be the assistant tennis coach. Like your secretary, he is a youthful, attractive man of nineteen.
You will see that, as a prosperous businessman with exceptional mathematical skills, we are in a similar circumstance, with the little exception that 19 enters 57 more frequently than 57 enters 19. I won’t be getting home until maybe tomorrow as a result.
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