Martyr's

Two Muslim mothers are sitting in the cafe chatting over a pint of goat's
milk.

The older of the mums pulls out her bag and starts flipping through pictures
and reminiscing.

'This is my oldest son, Mohamed. He would be 24 now.'

The other mum replies, 'I remember him as a baby.'

Mum says, 'He's a martyr now.'

'Oh, so sad, my dear.'

Mum flips to another picture. 'And this is my second son, Kalid. He would
be 21.'

'Oh I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born.'

Mum sighs, 'He's a martyr, too.'

'Oh gracious me,' says the second mother.

'And this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18', Mum
whispers.

'Yes,' says her friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he first
started school.'

'He's a martyr also,' Mum says, with tears in her eyes.

After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the
photos and says...........

'They blow up so fast, don't they?'