One morning, a woman stands at the kitchen counter preparing breakfast and looks over at her husband sitting at the table reading the paper. With a warm smile, she asks, “Would you like some bacon and eggs, maybe a slice of toast, and how about some grapefruit juice or a nice cup of coffee?”
Her tone is cheerful, clearly wanting to take care of him. But he looks up from his paper, shakes his head gently, and replies, “Thanks for asking, but I’m not hungry right now.” Then he adds with a straight face, “It’s this Viagra—it’s really taken the edge off my appetite.” She raises an eyebrow, a bit surprised, but doesn’t say much and carries on with her morning. A few hours later, as lunchtime rolls around, she checks in with him again. “Would you like something to eat now?” she asks. “Maybe a warm bowl of soup, some of those homemade muffins you like, or even just a cheese sandwich?”
Once again, he declines. “Nah,” he says, “I still don’t have much of an appetite. I’m telling you, it’s the Viagra—it’s really ruined my desire for food.” She nods slowly, a bit puzzled but still trying to be understanding, even if slightly annoyed. She goes back to tidying up and lets it slide for now. Later that evening, around dinnertime, she figures he must be ready to eat by now. After all, it’s been a full day without a bite, and surely even the strongest effects of any medication would’ve worn off by this point. With a bit more enthusiasm, she asks, “How about now? I could make you a juicy ribeye steak, serve it up with a loaded baked potato. Or maybe you’d prefer rotisserie chicken with some stir-fried veggies. I even made an apple pie for dessert.
Sound good?” He leans back in his chair and sighs, “Still not hungry. Honestly, I think it’s got to be the Viagra—it’s completely killed my appetite.” That’s when she finally loses her patience. She places her hands on her hips, stares directly at him, and says with a deadpan expression, “Well, would you mind getting off me? I’m bloody starving.” The timing is perfect, and the punchline hits like a well-aimed frying pan. The joke lands not just because of the unexpected twist, but because it perfectly captures the kind of humorous frustration that can happen between long-term partners who know each other a little too well.
The wife’s patience has clearly worn thin—not because of anything malicious, but because she’s just plain hungry and hasn’t been able to cook or eat properly with her husband being, well, otherwise occupied. The humor here isn’t just in the innuendo—it’s in the buildup, the repetition of the setup, and the wife’s final deadpan delivery. It plays on the everyday routine of meals and marriage, mixing it with a hilarious exaggeration of how one little blue pill might disrupt not just bedroom life, but kitchen life too. It’s one of those jokes that gets funnier the longer you think about it, especially because it’s rooted in something so mundane—what’s for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—and turns it into something completely unexpected. Anyone who’s ever experienced the push-and-pull of daily domestic life, who’s been in a long-term relationship where conversations sometimes revolve more around who’s cooking than anything else, will recognize the rhythm of this story. It’s relatable, it’s cheeky, and it’s just the right kind of inappropriate to make people laugh out loud. In the end, it’s not really about Viagra or even food—it’s about timing, partnership, and the kind of honesty that only comes after years of marriage, where one spouse can say exactly what’s on their mind without sugarcoating it, especially when dinner’s on the line.
