Nasrudin’s wife sent him to the river for water.
   She could not go, she explained, though it was woman’s work, 
because she was waiting for the dough to rise.
   The Mulla wandered to the riverside, reaching in with the pot,
and lost it in the water.
   An hour later he was still sitting there, looking steadily into the
water. Someone passing by asked him what he was doing.
   ‘Waiting,’ he said, ‘for the dough to rise.’