The best jokes are homegrown.  

A newly diagnosed man named Joe L., who tends to be a worrier, was on his way home from a visit to the urologist.  He was feeling good because the doctor had said his cancer was almost certainly localized.  Jeff wanted to celebrate.  So he decided to pick up some flowers for his wife (unlike some men I know who would go on a binge at Home Depot).  He wrote me:

“Yesterday when I stopped by the florist to pick up the bouquet, I decided to go with a custom job instead of one of the ready-mades sitting in the bucket.  The proprietor, a lady of a certain age, was eager to help me pick out the blooms I wanted. 

‘What’s the occasion?’ she asked.

‘Uhhhhh….we’re celebrating,’ I replied.

‘Ooh…a birthday?’ 




I was getting uncomfortable and she was so cheerful. 

‘Grandkids? New job? C’mon, what are you celebrating?’ 

I felt bad doing it but but someone had to break her of her nosy habit.  So I said:

‘My Gleason score is under 7.  Except for one core.’

She stared, wide-eyed. 

‘And my PSA is under 10!’

Her eyes were popping out. Finally, I announced in a loud voice:

‘I just found out my cancer hasn’t spread.’

Talk about your conversation killer.  For the rest of the day I felt awful but kept giggling.

Moral is: Don’t mess with a PC brother.