Yesterday my husband came home after a long meeting with folks and set down his briefcase in the living room. “What’s this?” I said and pointed to the seam running along his arm and side and ending in a large white washing instruction tag. His eyes grew wide as he realized he’d just spent hours walking around with his shirt on inside out. And I, sympathetic person that I am, just laughed and laughed and laughed.
ROTFL. LMAO. I live for stuff like this. I may have married this man for the entertainment benefits alone. After all, he’s the one who thought the iconic Beatles song was “Hey Dude.”
I love those belly laughs where you cry and you can’t breathe. Like the time when one of my daughters was drawn to the cookie display at the supermarket bakery, and set her toddler hands on the glass, only the glass wasn’t there that day and she went sailing through onto the shelf like a pastry pretty in pink.
My kids may have inherited some of this slapstick humor. To this day, they can’t see me buy corn without cracking up. Apparently there was one time many years ago that I was carefully selecting corns and placing them into a plastic bag. Unknown to me, there was a hole in the bag and as each corn went in, it sailed right to the floor. For some reason, this delighted them.
Then there was that particularly harried day when I pulled up to the gas station to fill up. Okay, I’d meant to pop open the gas tank lid and say fill it with regular, it’ll be cash. Instead I popped the trunk, and said “Fill it with cash.” Good thing the guy didn’t call the cops and report a robbery attempt (you know how threatening I look, especially with tears of laughter spilling down my cheeks).
Love to laugh. Sometimes, though, it can get a little out of control. I’ll be doing something mundane, like paying for groceries, and something will tip me off. Like maybe we’ve just bought corn AND cookies from the store bakery. I’ll giggle. Then snort. And before you know it I’m remembering every funny scenario in my life. I can’t help it. I’m laughing uncontrollably. My kids, who have witnessed this hot mess a number of times just shake their heads and say, “Oh mother.”
But what can I do? The laughs are everywhere. And all I have to do is remember my husband singing that classic Four Seasons song “Walk Like a Clam”… and I’ve lost it all over again.