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A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a
trip to Rome ...
She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, "Rome?
Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty and
full of Italians. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you
getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," was
the reply. "We got a great rate!" "Continental?" exclaimed the
hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old,
their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late.
So, where are you staying in
Rome?" "We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's
Tiber River called Teste."
"Don't go any further." I know
that place. "Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and
exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city!
The rooms are small, the service is surly and they're
overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?"
"We're going to go to see the
Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."
"That's rich," laughed the
hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him.
He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip
of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again
came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip
to Rome.
"It was wonderful," explained
the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's
brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to
first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a
handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And
the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million
remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the
city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us
their owner's suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the
hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't
get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky,
because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the
shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the
visitors and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room
and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five
minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my
hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh, really! What'd he say?"
He said, "Where'd you get the
crappy haircut?"
Submitted by Debbie,
Middletown, Md.
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