When Tom called his wife one Monday morning, his voice carried that forced cheer husbands use when they’re up to something.
“Honey,” he said, “my boss invited me on a weeklong fishing trip out of town. It could be great for my career—maybe even lead to a promotion. Can you pack enough clothes for the week, get my fishing gear ready, and don’t forget my new blue silk pajamas.”
Lisa, his wife, paused for a moment. Something in his tone didn’t sit right. Still, she played along, smiling into the phone. “Of course, dear,” she said sweetly. “I’ll take care of everything.” She packed his clothes, his tackle box, and—just as requested—those shiny blue pajamas.
A week later, Tom came home tanned, smug, and just a little too cheerful. Lisa greeted him at the door with the patience of a woman who already knew more than she was saying. “So,” she began, “how was the fishing?”
“It was fantastic,” Tom said, loosening his tie. “Caught salmon, bluegill, even a few swordfish. The boss and I had a great time.” Then, with a puzzled frown, he asked, “By the way, why didn’t you pack my blue silk pajamas like I asked?”
Lisa raised an eyebrow, a sly smile curling across her face. “Oh, I did,” she said, her tone sweet as sugar. “They were in your fishing box.”
For a long second, Tom stood frozen, realizing exactly what that meant. The silence between them said everything. Somewhere in the distance, you could almost hear the faint sound of a marriage lesson being learned—very slowly, and very effectively.
The Doctor and the Lawyer
At a crowded weekend party, a doctor was trying his best to unwind with a drink in hand. But every few minutes, someone interrupted him with a new “emergency.” One man rolled up his sleeve asking about a rash. Another complained about his aching back. A third leaned in, pointing to a mole under bad lighting. The doctor smiled politely through it all, offering free advice he didn’t remember volunteering for.
After nearly an hour of these impromptu consultations, he sighed and turned to the man standing next to him—a lawyer who looked perfectly unbothered. “How do you deal with people asking for free legal advice all the time?” he asked, half in frustration.
The lawyer smirked, sipping his drink. “Simple,” he said. “I give them the advice… then I mail them a bill.” The doctor laughed, waiting for the punchline. “You’re joking, right?” The lawyer shook his head. “Not even a little.”
Amused and a little inspired, the doctor decided to try it himself. The next morning, he sat at his desk and wrote bills for every person who’d cornered him at the party—complete with itemized “consultation fees.” Feeling oddly satisfied, he stuffed the envelopes and headed for the mailbox.
But when he opened it, there was already an envelope waiting inside. Curious, he tore it open and froze. It was an invoice.
From the lawyer.