The old colored mammy took advantage of a wedding announcement to question her mistress, who remained a spinster still though approaching middle age.
“When is you gwine to git married, missy?”
“I don’t know, mammy,” was the thoughtful reply. “Really, I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”
A note of sadness in the speaker’s voice moved the old woman to attempt philosophical consolation:
“Well, they do say as how ole maids am the happies’ kind after they quits strugglin’.”