A wealthy businessman had been having an affair with a beautiful Italian woman for several years.
One evening, during one of their secret getaways, she nervously confessed, “I’m pregnant.”
The man nearly dropped his wine glass. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice, “I can’t let this ruin my marriage or my reputation. I’ll give you a large sum of money if you return to Italy and have the baby there. I’ll take care of all the child support until the child turns eighteen.”
She agreed, but before leaving, she asked, “How will you know when the baby is born?”
He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Send me a postcard. Just write the word ‘Spaghetti’ on the back, and I’ll know what it means.”
Nine months passed. One afternoon, he came home from work to find his wife holding a postcard with a confused look.
“Honey,” she said, “you got a strange card from Italy today.”
Trying to act casual, he said, “Oh, that must be some business thing. Just give it here—I’ll explain later.”
She handed it over. He glanced at the card, turned ghostly white, and fainted on the spot.
On the postcard were the words:
“Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. Two with meatballs, one without.” 
