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Nasrudin's wife, angry with the Mullah for some reason, brought the soup to him boiling hot, hoping that he would scald his mouth with it. As soon as it was on the table, she forgot and took a gulp herself without cooling it. Tears came to her eyes, but still wanting the Mullah to likewise try the boiling soup, she dissembled. "Why are you crying," he asked her. "My poor old mother, just before she died had some soup like this. The memory made me weep." Nasrudin turned to his soup and took a burning mouthful. Tears were soon coursing down his cheeks too. "Why Nasrudin, surely you are not crying?" she said. "Yes," said the Mullah, "I am crying at the thought that your poor old mother died and left you alive."
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Mulla Nasrudin's wife was in the hospital dying. Just before she passed away, she said to her husband who was sitting by the bedside, "Darling, I have only one regret as I pass on. I hate to leave you behind in all of your loneliness. I just want you to know that if you should ever want to remarry, you have my consent. Only, if you do, I wonder if you would promise me something." "Yes, Darling," said the Mulla.'what is it?" "Would you promise not to let your new wife wear my old clothes and remind you of me?" she asked. "why,certaily i will promise you that," said Nasrudin. "I wouldn't think of such a thing. besides, all of your suits are too small for Fatima anywhy.
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