04/29/2026 from Daily Jokes
#22093
George had been worried for weeks. His wife, Martha, seemed to be drifting further and further away not emotionally, but audibly. He’d ask her a question from the other room, and she wouldn’t respond. He’d mention something at dinner, and she’d look at him blankly.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He scheduled an appointment with their family physician, Dr. Evans.
“Doc,” George said, settling into the exam room chair. “I think Martha’s going deaf. It’s getting serious. She doesn’t hear me half the time.”
Dr. Evans nodded sympathetically, jotting down a few notes. “Well, George, before we schedule any tests, there’s a simple home experiment you can try. It’ll help us gauge the severity of the hearing loss.”
George leaned in, eager for a solution. “What do I do?”
“Here’s the plan,” Dr. Evans explained. “Tonight, when you get home, stand as far away from her as possible—maybe across the room. Ask her a simple question, like ‘What’s for dinner?’ If she doesn’t answer, move a few steps closer and ask again. Keep repeating this process—moving closer each time—until she finally responds.
That way, we’ll know exactly how hard of hearing she really is.”
George thanked the doctor, feeling hopeful, and headed home.
That evening, Martha was in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables for supper. George walked in the front door and positioned himself at the far end of the hallway, a good twenty feet away.
“Honey,” he called out casually. “What’s for dinner?”
Silence. Martha kept chopping.
George took five steps closer into the living room.
“Honey, what’s for dinner?”
Still no answer. The chopping continued rhythmically.
George moved into the kitchen doorway, now only ten feet away.
“Honey, what’s for dinner?”
Nothing. Not even a glance.
George was starting to panic. It’s worse than I thought, he worried. He walked right up to the kitchen counter, standing just three feet behind her.
“Honey, what’s for dinner?”
Martha didn’t turn around. She didn’t stop chopping.
George moved to her side, now standing directly beside her. He leaned in gently.
“Honey… what’s for dinner?”
Martha finally set down the knife. She turned slowly to face him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed with the patience of a saint who has reached their limit.
“For the eleventh time, George,” she said, her voice clear as a bell.
“I said we’re having MEATLOAF!”
