Henry Cohen’s parents were not happy that he was not married by the age of 30 and they kept telling him so. He wanted to please his parents but couldn’t meet a nice girl. In desperation, he married a goyish prostitute.
His new wife’s friends worried because she had stopped showing up at her regular streetcorner, but one evening she appeared, in new clothing and fancy jewelry. Naturally, the friends were curious and she told them how she had married a nice Jewish boy.
“What about his parents?” they asked.
She answered, “They love me. After Henry told them about us, they had a party every evening for a week. They call it shiva.”