“But it looks like a storm,” Hank says to his wife.
“You need new clothes,” she says.
“There’s a storm coming.”
“I know how you hate shopping.”
“We can’t go out in that.”
“Let’s see. You need a new blazer, a parka, a sweatshirt, and a sweater. While we’re at it, we might as well get you some pajamas, undershirts, and socks. Some briefs too. And I need shorts. One of my old pair is beginning to look like boxers. I hate that.”
“It’s going to storm.”
“You’re such a wuss. Now get my purse and let’s go.”
Resigned to his fate, Hank gets her purse and follows her out. All the while, he gets in the last word, “But it’s going to storm.”
Uncle Bardie's Stories & Such 
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