"Can I please get some arsenic?" she asked.
"Arsenic? What do you want arsenic for?" asked the pharmacist.
"It's for my husband," she replied.
"Your husband?" exclaimed the pharmacist, "I hope you don't mean what I think you mean!"
She just nodded.
"Well, lady," he replied, "I'm an honest man. I can't sell you arsenic, I wouldn't if I could, and I don't know what made you think you could just stroll into a respectable store and expect me me to sell you arsenic.!"
She didn't say a word. She just reached into her purse, fished out a photograph, and handed it across the counter. It was a picture of her husband, in bed with the pharmacist's wife.
Slowly the pharmacist looks up, over the counter, and then straight at her. "Lady," he said, "why didn't you tell me you had a prescription?"
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