Six-Pack and Two Nuns
Two nuns decided to stop into a nearby 7-Eleven to pick up a few things while out on errands one especially hot summer afternoon. They passed the store’s beer fridge as they strolled along the aisles, talking about their duties and the heat.
“You know, sister, I can’t help but think how refreshing a nice, cold beer would be on an evening like this,” one nun observed, sighing as she paused for a while in front of the frosty glass door. Imagine enjoying a cool beverage while relaxing on the porch and enjoying the air.
With a quiet gasp, the second nun looked around. She said, “Yes, it sounds delicious, but I would feel really uncomfortable carrying beer up to the register.” Can you even fathom the looks we would receive? People would converse.
Undeterred, her buddy smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t be concerned, sister. I’ve got things under control. Simply follow my example.
The other nun reluctantly followed her as she boldly opened the cooler, took out a six-pack, and walked up to the checkout station.
When the young, wide-eyed cashier noticed two habitual women holding a six-pack of beer in front of him, he momentarily stopped. He arched an eyebrow, obviously perplexed.
Before he could say a word, the bolder nun leaned in and said with the utmost sincerity, “Oh, this? We use it for washing our hair. Back at the convent, we call it Catholic shampoo.”
The cashier blinked, trying to process that response. Then, without missing a beat, he reached under the counter, pulled out a pack of pretzel sticks, and added them to their bag.
Looking the nun straight in the eye with a grin, he said, “Well then, the curlers are on the house.”
A Blizzard, a Priest, and a Nun
A priest and a nun were going through a rural area one cold evening when they were unexpectedly ensnared in a severe blizzard. The cold pricked their clothing like needles, and the snow was falling so quickly and thickly that they could not see ahead. They found a little, deserted cabin nestled in the woods after what seemed like hours of hiking.
They entered, tired and shivering, glad to have found refuge. The cabin was bare and rustic, with no running water or electricity, but it had a roof and four sturdy walls, and that was all they needed just then.
They discovered a solitary narrow bed, a well-worn sleeping bag, and a little stack of old blankets inside.
The priest, ever the gentleman, remarked, “You take the bed, Sister. It’s only proper. I’ll use the sleeping bag to sleep on the floor.
After some hesitation, the nun accepted and thanked him for his generosity. Each of them tried to stay warm as they nestled up for the night.
After twenty minutes or so, the priest was about to fall asleep when he heard the nun whisper, “Father… I’m chilly.
With a soft sigh, the priest removed one of the extra blankets from his sleeping bag and carefully laid it over her. “All right, Sister. That ought to be beneficial.
He climbed back into the sleeping bag, zipped it shut once more, and attempted to doze off.
Ten more minutes went by. Her voice came again, a bit more meekly, “Father… I’m still cold.”
He stood up again, brought another blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and comforted her.
As his eyelids were about to close, she mumbled again, “Father,” back in the sleeping bag. I’m freezing.
He wiped his temples, sat up gently this time, and turned to face her. Then he replied, “Sister, I have an idea,” with a playful tone and a playful gleam in his eye. Nobody will ever realize that we’re alone in this remote area. For tonight only, let’s act as though we are.
With a smile, the priest raised his hands and exclaimed, “Well done! Then get up and grab a blanket of your own!
Ah, marriage, that hallowed institution where sarcasm and love collide.