My grandpa told me this one today:
A victorian era couple tied the knot, then rode off into the sunset in a horse-drawn carriage. After some time, one of the horses stumbled, but kept walking.
"That's one," said the groom. The bride disregarded the comment.
After a while, the same horse stumbled again.
"That's two," said the groom in an ominous tone.
Some time later, the horse stumbled again.
"That's three!" the groom grumbled, as he halted the horses. He climbed down from the buggy, rooted around in a compartment, pulled out a pistol, and shot the horse.
The bride went beserk. "WHY DID YOU..." she started, as she carried on and proceeded to chew her new husband out. The groom patiently waited for her to finish.
"That's one..."
They never had another fight.
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