One Thursday night, Mulla Nasruddin came home to supper. His wife served him baked beans. He
threw his plate of beans against the wall and shouted, ”I hate baked beans.”
’Mulla, I can’t figure you out,” his wife said,
”Monday night you liked Baked beans, Tuesday night you liked baked beans, Wednesday night you liked Baked beans and now, all of a sudden, on Thursday night, you say you hate Baked beans.”