My wife’s chicken
Once Nasruddin was eating a large roast chicken all by himself when Musa, the camel-seller’s son, came by and was watching him eat. The boy rubbed his tummy and said, “Mullah, I’m so hungry. Please give me some of that yummy chicken.”
“Indeed . . . willingly, I would gladly . . . share some . . . of this . . . delicious . . . chicken,” said Nasruddin as continued to chomp away and gobble the roast fowl, “but for . . . the unfortunate . . . fact that . . . it . . . belongs to . . . my wife.”
Musa pouted. “If it is your wife’s chicken, then why are you eating it?”
“Well . . . my child, she . . . gave it . . . to me with . . . the implicit . . . understanding . . . that I . . . should eat . . . it all!”
Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero
