A friend who usually takes a bus to work over-slept one morning and decided to drive. As he opened the garage door he saw that the rear wall – the one his wife smashed when she stepped on the gas pedal instead of the brake – had not been repaired.
My friend, a man of his word who expects the same virtue in others, strode back into the house and telephoned the carpenter.
“You said that you would have it fixed by noon yesterday,” he stormed.
“Let me ask you one question,” said the carpenter quietly.
“Did your wife drive the car in the afternoon?”