Eh? Ehh? EHHH?!

As I sit here watching my beard turn gray before my very eyes I have come to the realization that I was never all that funny.  I just have really lousy hearing.  If you'll bear with me for a blog-style therapy session I would like to get a few things off my chest (it's graying too but I'm not sure that is an appropriate image for a family blog so I will leave out that fact).

I suppose it all started in junior high school when someone would say something, I would mis-hear it (I'm sure it's a hyphenated word!), I would ask for clarification on what I thought I heard, and then all of my friends would roll around on the floor laughing hysterically.  Those of you who have survived junior high will know that most things you do are to: a) not be noticed, and b) not be embarrassed.  You can imagine how people noticed me when I was the only one standing in the middle of a bunch of people gasping for air.  The junior high mind is an efficient and terrible thing.  In the split second that I saw people looking my direction my mind told me: a) people are looking at you, b) you are the only one not laughing, c) everyone will think you farted, and d) perhaps I should send 90% of your blood to your face so you can look as embarrassed as you feel.

Failing at both of my junior high goals at once made me develop a new strategy.  Start laughing with these people!  Become one of the herd!  Blend in!  Then the lionesses walking by won't pick me out as the weakest zebra and devour me.  (sorry, the TV's been stuck on Animal Planet all week)  So that is how it began, a defense mechanism. 

I used to think that I was just getting by, but now it seems that I started to enjoy it at some point.  Having people laugh at the things that I said was not so bad.  If I meant to have them laugh, even better.  Not necessary but acceptable.  I managed to get by junior high school and into the beginning years of high school being embarrassed approximately only 75 times a day.  I had two friends who relished in the fact that they could make my face turn bright red by merely saying, "Why is your face turning red?"  Good times...but that is a therapy session (I mean blog) for another day.  Then in my junior year, my English class (note to Miss Berg...I capitalized English!) went to go see a play.  This play had someone who mis-spoke as part of the comedy.  They would say something like "He is the very pine-apple of politeness!" [pinnacle]  It is called Malapropism, named after the character of Mrs. Malaprop in the play "The Rivals" and it has been used ever since as a comedic device.  If you have ever watched Archie Bunker in All in the Family you have heard it used.  (I'm sorry to be so educational.  I will try not to let it happen again.) 

When I heard this, and that it was a respected part of comedy, I beamed.  The problem was that I had been hearing malapropisms all the time...mostly when the person talking wasn't saying them!  I would then insert what I had heard, suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and then pretend I meant to do it all the time.  Oh well, anything for a laugh. 

When I jump ahead to the years following high school after I drugged Sylvia and tricked her into marrying and having kids with such a weird guy.  (that's her story anyway..or maybe I just didn't hear it right)  When the kids were still wee ones, and starting to babble, I was now in my element.  I had spent years perfecting the skill of trying to be funny by repeating what was said while changing a word or two to make it funny.  Now I had whole "sentences" to play with.  "Ga monna fee monna," became "You wanna be Madonna!?  No Way!"  People laughed, I laughed with them, and the best part was that my kids laughed too.  Those memories will be the ones I cherish always.  Of course when I am in a nursing home and trying to recount these tales, people will just think that I am reverting back to my childhood when I start to babble.  (Here's a hint...I never left!)

Well all of that was to explain why I thought something my son said the other day was so incredibly funny!  We were talking about going to a lake/overambitious pond and to make sure to bring our swimsuits because we could possibly swim.  He protested and said, "We should go to the pool instead because I don't like swimming with refugees."  I was taken aback.  I have to admit I wasn't aware of Jake's feelings about political exiles. So I asked, "Why, son, don't you like to swim with refugees?"  The van erupted in laughter.  It was junior high all over again.  It was then explained to me that Jake, a very tolerant fellow, would prefer not swimming with "real fishies."  Perhaps I should get my ears checked.