A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to
Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who
responded: "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and
dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"
"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline.
Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always
late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called
Teste."
"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's gonna be
something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel
in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're
overpriced. So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."
"Tha t's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people
trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this
lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser
asked her about her trip to Rome.
"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one
of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped
us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a
handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the
hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now
it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were
overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no e!
Xtra cha rge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and go od, but I know
you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss
Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet
some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private
room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five
minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand; I knelt
down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh really! What'd he say?"
He said: "Where'd you get the shitty hairdo?"
Marty