A Scottish Soldier, in full dress uniform, marches into a pharmacy.
Very carefully he opens his sporran and pulls out a neatly folded cotton bandana,
carefully he unfolds it to reveal a smaller silk square handkerchief, which he also unfolds –
to reveal a condom.
The condom has a number of patches on it.
The chemist holds it up and eyes it critically.
“How much to repair it?” the Scot seriously asks the chemist.
“Six pence”, says the chemist casually.
“How much for a new one?”
“Ten pence”, says the chemist.
The Scot painstakingly folds the condom into the silk square handkerchief and the
cotton bandana, replaces it carefully in his sporran, and marches out of the door,
shoulders back and kilt swinging.
A moment or two later the chemist hears a great shout go up outside, followed by
an even greater roar of voices.
The Scottish soldier marches back into the pharmacy and addresses the proprietor,
this time with a grin on his face.
“The regiment has taken a vote”, he says.
“We’ll have a new one.”
