On paper, I am a grown woman. I have a decent job, I live in a nice apartment, I am a responsible pet owner and look pretty damn good for my age. At first glance you'd think that I was a pretty together and responsible individual, but get to know me and you will soon realize that I have the mentality of a 13 year old boy; at times you might even question whether or not I was borderline retarded based solely on the things that I find humorous.
I don't remember my parents being such idiots when I was growing up, they always seemed so smart and refined, perhaps they just hid it well. Who knows what they were laughing at when I wasn't around.
As for me, I giggle with inappropriate delight when someone farts, falls down, hurts themselves, vomits, shits themselves, pees their pants, sports a boner or even talks about a sporting a boner.
At times I've even been known to crack up in serious situations like a funeral or in class. Stressful situations can also trigger an unbecoming melt down of hilarity.
During a high school field trip, my best friend Beth and I unsuccessfully tried to stifle our snickering after hearing the word "penis" during a court case. The more we tried to hold it back, the funnier it became until we finally burst into a fit of uncalled for amusement.
Speaking of penis, the only time that I have really questioned whether or not I had a serious problem was when I first started working in the ER. An ambulance brought in a CPR in progress, which by definition is NOT funny in the least bit.
For whatever reason the male patient was brought to us completely naked and every time someone pumped on his chest, his penis would bob up and down in rhythm with the compression cycle. It was tragic watching my colleagues struggling to save this man's life, but even more tragic was my own uncomfortable reaction...like an epic douche bag, I laughed.
Ah yes, you can always count on me for some ill-timed guffaws.
I blame my sister because the first incident that I can recall laughing at with great irreverence involved her. As the oldest, it was my job to look out for her. Our mother sent us down to the playground one afternoon, I was eight years old at the time and my sister four. She wanted to slide down the slide, so being the stellar guardian that I was, I stood at the foot of the ladder and watched patiently as she climbed the rungs, one by one. Damn if she didn't make it all the way to the top when her tiny foot missed a step and she came tumbling down like a scene from a Three Stooges skit.
It was like sweet slow-motion as I watched her chin hit each of the rungs coming down, the same ones that she had so painstakingly climbed up just moments earlier. The sound of bone hitting metal made a weird clacking sound, almost like a muffled gong. I didn't erupt until rungs two or three, but the sound in combination with the visual was clearly more than I could take and that is when it happened...I laughed.
The farther she fell, the harder I laughed, until it reached a point of sheer hysteria. I laughed as I dusted her off. I laughed at the sight of the blood spurting from the underside of her mandible. I laughed as I walked her home. I laughed as we entered the front door to our house. I laughed when my mother put hydrogen peroxide on her open wound and I laughed behind closed doors when I got sent to my room for laughing.
It was uncontrollable goodness, like I was going for the world record for longest period spent laughing without a break. Hell, I am laughing right now just thinking about it.
Sadly it was the beginning of a torturous life for my poor sister, but in all fairness she has laughed at my expense as well, so it is a win-win situation.
There really is nothing better in this world than laughing. For that moment, no harm can come my way. There is something so genuine and cleansing about a good laugh. All those silly things that they say about it being the best medicine are dead on.
Sometimes you've just got to find the funny and somehow, regardless of what is falling apart around me, I thankfully find it every day.
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