A man is sitting on his porch when he notices two blondes working down the road!

A man was sitting on his porch one quiet afternoon, rocking gently in his chair, when movement down the road caught his attention. Two blondes were working side by side in a vacant lot. Both had shovels. One would dig a hole, step back, and almost immediately the other would step forward and fill it in. No pause. No discussion. Just a steady rhythm: dig, fill, dig, fill.

At first, he smiled and went back to his newspaper. After an hour, curiosity crept in. After two hours, confusion followed. By the third hour, the man set his paper aside and leaned forward, watching closely. They were sweating, clearly putting in real effort, yet the ground looked exactly the same as when they started.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, he stood up and walked down the road.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, trying not to sound judgmental. “I’ve been watching you both for quite a while. You certainly look like you’re working hard, but I can’t figure out what you’re actually trying to accomplish.”

The blondes stopped, leaned on their shovels, and exchanged a look as if the answer were obvious.

“Well,” one of them said matter-of-factly, “there’s usually three of us.”

The man nodded slowly. “And?”

“The one who plants the trees is sick today.”

She shrugged and went back to digging. The other blonde immediately filled the hole back in.

The man returned to his porch with more questions than he started with.

Not far from there—at a military base buzzing with early-morning routines—a young private nervously stood outside his commanding officer’s office. He straightened his uniform, took a breath, and knocked.

“Enter,” the officer called.

The private stepped inside and saluted. “Sir, I’d like permission to leave camp this weekend.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Reason?”

“My wife’s expecting, sir.”

The officer softened immediately. “Ah. I understand. Go ahead. And tell your wife I wish her the best.”

The following week, the same private appeared again.

“Sir,” he said, saluting, “request permission to leave camp this weekend.”

The officer squinted. “Let me guess. Your wife’s expecting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Still expecting?” the officer asked, surprised. “Well, my boy, that must be stressful. Of course. Granted.”

By the third week, the private stood in the doorway once more.

The officer didn’t even look up. “Don’t tell me,” he snapped. “Your wife is still expecting.”

“Yes, sir,” the private replied confidently.

The officer slammed his pen down. “Good grief! What in heaven’s name is she expecting?”

The private stood a little taller. “Me, sir.”

Elsewhere on the same base, the day began like any other. The sun barely cleared the horizon as troops lined up in formation. Boots scuffed gravel. Coffee cups were hastily discarded. The first sergeant stepped forward with a clipboard and cleared his throat.

“Alright, listen up. Work party assignments.”

He began calling names with sharp precision.

“Ames.”

“Here!”

“Jenson.”

“Here!”

“Jones.”

“Here!”

“Magersky.”

“Here!”

“Seeback.”

Silence.

The sergeant frowned and looked up. “Seeback!”

No response.

“SEEBACK!”

The formation stayed perfectly still, eyes forward, mouths shut. The sergeant’s jaw tightened.

Just then, a soldier leaned in and whispered something into his ear. The sergeant blinked, glanced back down at the clipboard, and his face shifted from irritation to understanding.

Without a word, he flipped the page over and continued reading names from the back.

The troops held their composure, though several shoulders shook quietly.

Across town, in a dusty diner just off the highway, laughter echoed from a corner booth. A long-haul trucker wiped syrup from his beard while a waitress shook her head, grinning after learning that “blowouts” meant pancakes and not tires. The cook laughed so hard he nearly burned the bacon. Someone slapped the counter and said, “That’s one for the road.”