My Husband Thinks I'm Funny

My husband thinks I'm funny. I tried to explain to him that the very things he finds amusing were not really intended to be funny and would not be quite as entertaining to the masses as they are to him--but he still insists that I should embrace the humor he claims I possess.

I sigh.

He begins to list story after story and we begin to shed tear after tear laughing our brains out.

"See, you're funny," he claims again.

I shrug my shoulders and stare at a computer screen waiting for funny to come...but funny seems to come much easier in a company of friends. Funny things happen often, but not daily, and it would be a lot of pressure to have to think of something funny every single day. I suppose it wouldn't be a bad exercise; nevertheless, the more I think about it, the more I have come to realize that being funny ushers in a whole lot of pressure.

See, you can always dig deep for inspirational, or think hard about philosophical, or disconnect your mind and stumble upon creative. Humor is darn near impossible if you don't have a good story. I mean, after all, what would I possibly have to write about on the days I don't fall into the dumpster trying to reach for my keys--like I did on Christmas Eve--or when I don't try to run over a toothless man with his hands down his pants tapping on my car window one dark, Thursday night? I mean, after all, some mornings you wake up, walk out the door and your porch is clean--you don't have a tattered bag of belongings with a ratted piece of lingerie lingering on top. Let's face it, at least three to four days of my week are relatively uneventful, and on those uneventful days, what could I possibly write about to make people laugh?

"Let's make a list," J suggests. "You know, for those nights when you can't think of what to write about--let's make a list of all of your funny stories so you have a bank to use when you're stuck."

I pinched my lips to one side, cocked my head, and pressed my weight on one butt cheek--you know, thinking position. Then I acquiesced.

"Okay, what do you want me to write?"

"What about the time when you killed 568 flies and no one believed you so you kept a bag of them in your freezer to show as proof? Or when you packed a tub of Vasoline in your carry on bag, or when you tried to 'claim' a ham and cheese sandwich at customs? Or when you actually looked up the non-emergency line when someone was trying to break into your condo?"

He had a point.

And so we kept listing stories, I kept typing, and eventually I realized that a lot of weird things have happened to me. I might not be completely convinced that my voice is naturally humorous, but I sure do have a pretty lengthy collection of tales that certainly entertain the two of us. So for now I'm laughing at myself. And I'm not so sure if that's because I really am funny or if it because my life sometimes is.