In the natural course of events we got to talking and swapped childhood memories.
She told me that she was married, but didn't live with her husband.
"In that case," says I, "you must be a grass widow."
"Why, yes," she assented. "By the way, are you a lawn mower?"
I hastened to assure her that I was a married man.
"Do you know," she says, as we were crossing the Harlem River, "I was walking over this bridge one time and suddenly a man ran up, seized me, and before I could cry out, hurled me over the rail."
"Can you swim?" says I.
"No," says she.
"Then how were you saved?"