A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a
trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the
hairdresser, who responded, " Rome ? Why would anyone want to go there? It's
crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome So, how are you getting
there?"



We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"



"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible
airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and
they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome ?"



"We'll be at this exclusive little place e over on Rome 's Tiber
River called Teste."



"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks
it's going be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the
worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they're
overpriced.



So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"



"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the
Pope."



"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser, "You and a million other
people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good
luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."



A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The
hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome



"It was wonderful!" exclaimed the woman, "Not only were we on
time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was
overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine
were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited
on me hand and foot.



And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million
remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They,
too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at
no extra charge!"



"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but
I know you didn't get to see the Pope."



"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican
a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes
to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his
private room and wait the Pope would personally greet me.



Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door
and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."



"Oh, really! What'd he say?"



He said, "Where'd you get the bad haircut?