The Nun's Shirt.
My Dad and I sing with the same choir. Since we live on opposite sides of the country, we tend to meet most often when we're rehearsing or performing.

One day, I'm on my way down to a gig in London and I realise I've forgotten my fancy-dancy gigging shirt. I know my Dad's been down there for a while and is probably out about town, so I text him and ask him to buy a shirt for me, and I'll pay him when I get there.

Dad dutifully replies in the affirmative, then texts to ask me my collar size.
I have absolutely no idea.

I tell Dad this and he texts back:
'Nun says your shirt size is X'

He'd obviously meant to type 'Mum', but decrepit fingers and predictive text are not a good combination.

So I text back:
'That Nun swore she'd be discreet.'

And now a word from the man himself:
"If I ever have to explain my eldest son's personality to someone, I now tell them this story. Sharp enough to come up with a response like that in two seconds flat. Daft enough not to know his collar size in the first place."
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Fri 26 Nov 2010, 10:58, Reply)