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My close friend, Judy, and I were measuring tablecloths for a charity event to be held at my home. Anxious to tell someone about the strange happenings at our house, I told about things being moved, knocks sounding when no one was there, and about items disappearing and reappearing. Judy, not wanting to hurt my feelings, was listening intently, nodding, and reacting to my stories.
Suddenly, Judy said, "Careful, Betty, you're getting blood on the cloth!"
We quickly put the blood stained area under cold water and washed out the fresh stain.
Then I showed Judy my clean hands and asked, "Now do you believe me, Judy?"
The next morning I carefully related my tablecloth story to my husband, Stan. He was the perfect mate and like Judy, he reacted thoughtfully and respectfully. Then just as I completed, he shouted an expletive from his bathroom. When I ran to see what had happened, Stan disgustedly said, "I got blood on my new shirt and I just took it out of the package!"
He took it off and we ran cold water over the stain and as he put it on again, blood appeared on the shirttail. We rinsed the blood out again. I couldn't wait to ask him where he was bleeding. He wasn't. (Stan has a beard and does not shave.)
Then I asked, "Now do you believe me, Stan?"
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