#copied
(A)
In the middle of the night, Muthoni had a nightmare in which someone was knocking at the door. She awoke and vigorously shook her husband.
“Quick!” she said. “My husband is home.”
Her husband woke up fast, gathered up his clothes and was halfway out of the window when he paused.
“Wait a doggone minute. This is my house.” Red to the gills, he confronted his wife. “Who have you been bringing to our bed when I’m not here?”
After a few seconds of dread and deep contemplation, she said, “If you knew that, where were you going? Which other woman’s bed have you been sleeping in when you are not home?”
(B)
Everything went fine until the very middle of the night, when there came a knock on the door. She awoke and vigorously shook me. “Quick!” she said. “My husband is home!”
I gawped. “Your husband?”
“He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two days.”
“Why didn’t you mention you were married? You could’ve saved us both a lot of—”
“Will you stand there bickering, or will you take this rope and rappel out of the window?”
As I climbed down the third-floor window, wondering why she had the rope fashioned out of bedsheets handy — “How often does this happen?” — I realised the rope wouldn’t take me all the way to the ground.
Looking out of the window, she saw my dilemma.
“Oops!” she said. “My bad. Our previous flat was on the first floor.”