It happened once upon a time that Mullah Nasruddin was sitting in a tea-house and fell into conversation with a stranger.

Nasruddin asked the man about himself, and the stranger replied: “Mullah, perhaps it will surprise you that such a humble man as myself – for I do not pretend to be better than I am – comes from a most illustrious family.”

“Is it so?” said Nasruddin noncommittally.

“It is,” the man replied. “Let me tell you.” And he began to describe one ancestor after another, how this one was glorious and that one was brave, and another was rich, and still another was learned. But in the middle of his flow, Nasruddin suddenly got to his feet and prepared to leave.

“But Mullah,” said the man, “are you going? I have only begun.”

“Friend,” said Nasruddin, “if I don’t care about my own ancestors, why would I be interested in yours?”