Good old Dave

Morris walks out into the street and manages to get a taxi just going by. He gets into the taxi, and the cab driver says, “Perfect timing. You're just like Dave.”

“Who?”

“Dave Aronson. There's a guy who did everything right. Like my coming along when you needed a cab. It would have happened like that to Dave.”

“There are always a few clouds over everybody,” says Morris.

“Not Dave. He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star.”

“He was something, huh?”

“He had a memory like a trap. Could remember everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which fork to eat with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and I black out the whole neighborhood.”

“No wonder you remember him.”

“Well, I never actually met Dave.”

“Then how do you know so much about him?” asks Morris.

“Because I married his widow.”