She'd be fantastic in the kitchen. Totally naked under her apron. A real freak -- pan handles in each hand cooking 2 meals at once -- and neither one has vegetables.

She'd know how to dress. In fact, she wouldn't even own shirts or shoes. She's be topless and barefoot at all times. The only outfit she'd own would include a stethoscope and a little white hat with red plus sign.

 She'd do my taxes.

I would never know if she had bad breath because she would never talk. Except 2 phrases. "Dinner's ready" and "I'm ready."

 She'd have a tattoo on the small of her back, right above her ass in the shape of a beer coaster, so while making love, I'd have a place to coast my beer.

 Our marriage license would expire on her 30th birthday.

 She'd be intelligent. She'd be writing her PhD dissertation on neurotransmitter function while gobbling my spit-rod.

 She'd have nipples made of bubble-gum.