One afternoon in an old English town Lynn and Millie were enjoying tea and scones at a local tea shop. During the course of their visit Lynn remarked, “Have you heard that June’s daughter Tiffany is finally getting married?”
“Yes. I heard June telling her sister Debbie all about her daughter’s fiancé at the flea market last Saturday,” Millie replied.
“I gather Tiffany’s telling everyone she’s found the perfect man,” Lynn said as she spread jam on her scone. “She claims it’s a match made in heaven.”
Millie smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid she’ll soon learn that there’s no such thing as a perfect man.”
An older gent sitting at the next table had been listening in on this conversation. Now he leaned over to say, “Forgive me for eavesdropping, ladies, but I’d like to correct your misconception. There is indeed such a thing as a perfect man.”
“Oh, really,” said Millie. She regarded him with raised eyebrows and a bit of a smirk, fully expecting he’d declare himself to be this perfect specimen.
The gent nodded. “I’ve been told this many times. But I confess, I’ve never met him.” This was followed by a long-suffering sigh. “He was my wife’s first husband.”