Paul Tells a Joke

I was eight years old, in the back of my uncle's car, heading for the lake. Paul said "I have a joke."

"OK..."

"You have to repeat what I say. Say 'I have a butler named Hives.'"

"Why?" Paul's family was rougher than I was used to. Their sense of humor seemed to involve setting me up to be mocked, and I wasn't going to walk into that if I could help it.

"Just do it. 'I have a butler named Hives.'"

"Oh, all right. 'I have a butler named Hives.'"

Paul smiled and got right into it. "He's the best butler I've ever had." He waved to me to repeat that.

I shrugged. "He's the best butler I've ever had."

"I've had Hives for twelve years."

"I've had Hives for twelve years."

Paul grinned big. "Well, then you'd better use Epsom Salts."

"Well, then you'd better--"

"No, no, that's the joke?"

"What joke? What are Epsom Salts?"

"They're what you use if you have hives."

"What are hives?"

Paul scowled at me. "You have no sense of humor," he said.