The Forgetful Scotsman
Walking to the bus stop today I noticed an elderly Scotsman sitting alone on a bench. Upon further inspection I noticed he was sobbing to himself. I had some time to spare and so I asked the man,
“Sir, what seems to be the matter?”
to which he replied, “Och laddie, I have the most beautiful wife ye ever did lay eyes on, young and fit. Every mornin’ she makes me a hearty breakfast of sausage links, eggs, and a fresh tattie scone…”
I was confused, “What reason is that to be sobbing?”
The elderly Scot continued, “Every day for lunch she prepares a fine plate of fish n’ chips and bakes up the greatest scotch pie in the world!”
Perplexed, I asked once more “So… why are you sobbing?”
The elderly Scot continued, “Every evenin’ come dinner, the lass cooks up the family’s haggis recipe better than me own mum used to, and some of the loveliest clootie dumplings your tongue ever touched for dessert!”
Expecting an answer, I asked a final time “You seem to have it made, what could you possibly be sad about?!”
The elderly Scotsman stopped crying into his tam ‘o shanter bonnet and looked at me with a deep sadness, “I can’t ‘member which home is mine!”
The Scot’s Deaf Wife
After a long day of being out and about, a Scotsman returns to his home at about dinner time. Earlier in the day, he had been to the doctor’s office to consult him about his wife’s loss of hearing. The doctor recommended a simple test involving speaking to his wife at various distances to see how bad the deafness was.
The Scot hung up his coat and decided to try the doctor’s test, “Bonnie I’m ‘ome! What’s fer dinner love?”
There was no response. The Scot took off his boots and walk a ways down the hall. Again, he called out, “Bonnie, I’m ‘ome! What’s fer dinner?”
Still no response! The Scot walked just outside the kitchen, once more he barked, “Oi! Bonnie! Are ye’ deaf? I said I’m ‘ome!”
Nothing. The Scotsman stormed into the kitchen and walked right up to his wife, who was facing him, “Bonnie, are ye’ daft lass? I asked ye…”
He was interrupted by his wife in mid speech, “Donald, fer the fourth and bloody last time, I said we’re ‘avin lorne sausage and stovies! Ya need to get yer ‘earin checked already!”
The Scottish Therapist
There once was a disturbed Scotsman named Willy. Willy had been suffering from what he believed to be unshakable delusions every night. At the end of his rope, he decided to seek the help of a private therapist, afraid of being thrown in a mental ward for being crazy. During his first session, Willy shook the therapists hand and sat down.
“What seems to be troubling you Willy? The letter I received seemed very urgent.” began the therapist.
“Ah’ can’t describe it exactly doctor, but I swear each night there’s somethin’ been makin’ noises under mah bed. I get out ta’ check what’s goin’ on down there, but there’s nothin’ at all! Then ah’ hear something from above, on top of mah bed! I go up to check, and again there’s nothin’ there! It goes on like this all through the night into the wee hours of the morning, I must be goin’ crazy!”
The therapist provides a response after scribbling down some notes, “I’ve seen a case like this before, very recently in fact. I cured the last patient and I’m certain I can do the same for you! Now, it will take some time. I’ll need you to return here two times a week for the next few months.”
“Anythin’ anythin’! ‘Ow much will it cost meh?” replied Willy.
“It will be €50 per session” replied the Therapist.
Willy looked troubled about the cost and sulked off to the local bar for a round. The therapist never saw Willy in his office again. Then, one day, several months later, the therapist and Willy met on the street.
“Why did you never come back to my office?” the therapist replied, shocked that Willy was looking energetic and happy.
“Ah’ didn’t ‘ave nearly enough to pay ye’ €50 each session. Besides, the barman cured me for naught but a onetime charge of €10!” replied Willy.
“What… how in the world did he manage that?” asked the therapist.
“Simple!” exclaimed Willy, “He told meh to saw the legs off me bed!”
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