A woman married a kind, hardworking man when she was very young.

They had ten children together and, for a while, life was noisy, busy, and full of diapers, school lunches, and sleepless nights.

Sadly, after many years, her husband passed away.

After some time, the woman remarried.

Her second husband was also a good man, and before long, they had ten more children.

The house became even louder, the grocery bills became terrifying, and the neighbors stopped trying to remember everyone’s names.

Then, unfortunately, her second husband died too.

A few years later, the woman married again.

People in town whispered, “Surely this time she’ll slow down.”

But no.

She and her third husband had another ten children.

By now, family gatherings looked like public events, and Christmas dinner required seating charts, traffic control, and at least three turkeys.

Then the third husband passed away.

Eventually, the woman married a fourth time.

And yes, once again, she had ten more children.

By the end of her life, she had been married four times and had forty children.

When she finally passed away, the entire town came to her funeral.

The church was packed. Children, grandchildren, relatives, neighbors — everyone was there.

The priest stood solemnly before the coffin, looked toward the heavens, and quietly said:

“Thank God… they’re finally together.”

A man sitting in the back leaned toward the man beside him and whispered:

“Which husband do you think he means? The first, second, third, or fourth?”

The other man looked at him, shook his head, and whispered back:

“I don’t think he means any of the husbands.”

The first man frowned.

“Then who?”

The other man leaned closer and said:

“I think he means her legs.”