Old Harry was on his deathbed. He raised himself on one elbow and beckoned to his wife. "Doris", he whispered, "you were with me through the Great Depression."
"Doris, you were with me through the worst droughts in the fifties and the eighties."
"And you were with me when the farm got burned out by the bushfires in the nineties. And last year, you were still hanging in there with me when the bank foreclosed on our mortgage and we lost the farm."
"And now, here you are with me today, when I'm just about to die."
"You know, Doris", he whispered, "I'm beginning to think that you're nothing but bad luck!"