Not my type

Duck decoys, fishing rods, boots -- outdoor gear of all kinds was piled high in the garage. One day I found my wife staring at the mess. "I hope I die first, so I don't have to get rid of all this," she sighed."Look on the bright side," I suggested. "If I go first, you can put an ad in the paper. When all the men come by to check out the stuff, you can pick out a replacement for me."Still staring at the pile, she said, "Nah. Whoever would want all this stuff wouldn't be my type."