It was one of those conversations that Seamus hated. They were out at a Christmas party and Christine had too much to drink and launched into her usual self-pitying question and answer sessions.
“Seamus, do you really, really love me and are you really, really glad you married me?”
“Of course, I love you and of course I’m glad we got married,” replied Seamus with a sigh.
“Seamus love, if I died would you get married again?”
“Absolutely not, sweetheart, you are the only woman I’ll ever love.”
“But Seamus darling, I would want you to get married again, I wouldn’t want you to be lonely,” simpered Christine.
“OK, OK, if it makes you happy, maybe I would,” said her husband, impatience rising in his voice and knowing full well that their friends were sniggering at his wife’s drunken antics.
“Mmmmm, I’m glad,” said Christine, “would you let her sleep in our bed?”
“For God’s sake, Christine, will you give it a rest. You’re not going to die any time soon and you are upsetting everybody with these stupid questions.”
“But I have to know,” slurred his wife, “would you let your new girlfriend sleep in our bed?”
“No, I would not. Now, does that make you happy?”, snapped Seamus.
“Ah-ha,” retorted Christine, “but would you let her use my golf clubs?”
“No I bloody well wouldn’t,” shouted Seamus, as other people in the restaurant began to stare.
“Why wouldn’t you let her use my golf clubs,” replied Christine, and Seamus knew she was going to go on and on for the night.
“Because,” he said, banging his fist on the table, “your clubs would be no bloody good to her because she’s left-handed!”