Returning from a trip to visit my grandmother in Maine, I was stopped by a state trooper in New York for exceeding the speed limit.
Grateful to have received a warning instead of a ticket, I gave him a small bag of my grandmother’s delicious chocolate-chip cookies and proceeded on my way.
A short time later, I was stopped by another trooper.
“What have I done?” I asked.
“Nothing,” the trooper said, smiling. “I heard you were passing out great chocolate-chip cookies.”
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A woman goes to the local psychic in hopes of contacting her dearly departed grandmother.
The psychic’s eyelids begin to flutter, her voice warbles, her hands float up above the table, and she begins to moan.
Eventually, a coherent voice emanates, saying, “Granddaughter? Are you there?”
The customer, wide-eyed and on the edge of her seat, responds, “Grandmother? Is that you?”
“Yes, granddaughter, it’s me!”
“It’s really, really you, grandmother?” the woman repeats.
“Yes, it’s really me, granddaughter!”
The woman looks puzzled, “You’re sure it’s you, grandmother?”
“Yes, granddaughter, I’m sure it’s me!”
The woman pauses for a moment, “Grandmother, I have just one question for you!”
“Anything, my child!”