James had smelly feet. They stank. In fact, they were so smelly and he was so embarrassed about them that he felt he would never be able to marry.
Mary had a chronic case of halitosis. Her breath ponged. She was so self-conscious about it that she always held a handkerchief in front of her mouth.
One day, James and Mary met. They began a courtship that progressed without either one of them knowing about the other’s problem. James never took his shoes off; Mary never took her handkerchief away from her mouth.
They married. On their wedding night, James was in the bathroom. He had taken with him all manner of things to quell his smelly feet, and after scrubbing and deodorising, it was Mary’s turn to use the bathroom.
She was equally nervous and had brought with her an array of mouth fresheners and mints to sweeten her breath.
Mary was in the bathroom when James remembered — to his horror — that he’d left his smelly socks in there. There seemed to be nothing left to do but confess to his smelly feet.
Mary was thinking the same thing. “I must tell him about my condition now,” she thought.
She opened the bathroom door and there stood James.
“I have something I must tell you,” she blurted.
“I know,” said James, getting a whiff of her breath that nearly made him pass out. “You’ve eaten my socks.”