Old Joe only had moments to live. At his bedside were his
family – his wife and four sons, three of whom had blond
hair, the other had ginger.
“Em, tell me please, I’ve always wondered why one of our
sons had red hair. Is he really my son?”
Emma put her hand on her heart and swore fervently that,
yes, he was his son.
“Oh thank goodness,” croaked the old man and he died with
a smile on his face.
As the family left the room, the wife sighed deeply.
“Thank heaven he didn’t ask about the other three.”
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