A glamorous Mexican woman named Sofia walked into an immigration office in Texas wearing a tight red dress, high heels, and enough perfume to stop traffic.
The immigration officer adjusted his glasses and asked politely,
“Ma’am, what makes you think you deserve permanent residency in the United States?”
Sofia smiled confidently and said,
“Well… I cook like a Mexican, clean like a Latina mother, work harder than three men, and every American boyfriend I’ve had begged me not to leave.”
The officer raised an eyebrow.
“That’s… not exactly a legal qualification.”
Sofia leaned closer and whispered,
“Oh really? Then why does every married man in this building suddenly need help translating Spanish?”
The entire office went silent.
A man in the back slowly stood up and muttered,
“For the record… I only needed directions to the cafeteria.”
