Ninety-four-year-old Grandma Ethel
Ninety-four-year-old Grandma Ethel walks into her church one quiet morning and heads straight for the confession sales space. She steps inside, settles onto the seat, and clears her throat.
On the opposite aspect of the display, the priest smiles gently and says, “Welcome, my youngster. What would you prefer to confess?”
Ethel sighs dramatically. “Father, I’ve a confession. Final night time, I went out with a 22-year-old man. He took me to dinner, we danced, we laughed, after which…” she pauses for impact, “…we went again to his place.”
The priest almost drops his rosary. “My goodness,” he says rigorously. “And… did one thing inappropriate occur?”
Ethel bursts into laughter, cackling so arduous the sales space shakes. “Oh no, Father,” she says between giggles. “Nothing like that.”
Relieved, the priest exhales. “Effectively then, what precisely are you confessing, my youngster?”
Ethel leans nearer to the display and whispers proudly, “I’m confessing that I lied to him about my age… and I’d do it once more.”
The priest sits there shocked, then slowly begins laughing himself.
Generally the actual sin isn’t what you probably did — it’s how confidently you bought away with it.
