I’m furious—my wife is cheating on me with a painter. I came home early, and there were traces of paint in the bed. Blue on the sheets, red on the pillow… looked like Picasso had a nervous breakdown in there.
I confronted her and she said, “Oh, it must’ve been from when I was redecorating.” Redecorating what? The bedframe of our marriage?
My friend tried to make me feel better. He goes, “Hey, man… at least it’s a painter. Creative type, sensitive hands.” I said, “Sensitive hands?! He left a paintbrush under my pillow like it was a mint at a hotel!”
Then he says, “Come on, it could be worse. Mine cheats on me with a truck.” I said, “A truck?”
