A gentleman farmer from Derbyshire

“What did the doctor say, my love, about that bump on your head?”
“He first asked, if I had a habit, of bumping my head as I passed through doors. I said, ‘Why yes, all my life, I’ve bumped my head on doors. Doors are a nuisance, I try best to avoid them.’
He then asked, if my feet get cold at night, as I sleep. I said, ‘Why yes, my feet get quite cold, hanging over the bed, why I wear wool stockings to sleep.’
The doctor then said the most startling, disturbing thing. He said, ‘Why sir, you bump your head, because you are quite tall. The nurse has measured your height at 7 feet, 7 inches. A normal man is 5 feet, 10 inches.’
Needless to say, I took quite a jump at that news, that number so strangely describing me.”

“Why my Dear, of course you’re quite tall.
That’s why only you can retrieve the hay from the loft without a ladder;
why I retrieve the eggs from the chicken coup;
why Ms Perkins asked you to retrieve her cat from her tree last Summer;
why, on the Fourth of July, the best view of the parade is from your shoulders, Tommy loves it so;
and why you hang the star on the Christmas tree every year.
I’ve known this all our lives, and it’s one of the reasons, I fell in love with you.”

“But what am I to do with such a startling diagnosis?”

“Perhaps you could start ducking a bit when you come through the door.”

“I’m a bit too old to change my habits now!”