Being funny is a major component of my personality. Without humor, I’d just be a bitch. And what’s worse than a humorless bitch? (Not much.) My husband is funny too. He cracks me up on a daily basis. Sure, 90% of the time everyone else in the room just looks at him bewildered, but I always get his jokes. (He’s foreign. Foreign people are weird.*)
*I’m allowed to say this because in some countries I’m foreign too.
My kids are still working on becoming funny. At least I hope they’re working on it and that where they are now on the funny spectrum is not where they’ll remain. Sally doesn’t think anything that’s actually funny is funny. But the girl can laugh for hours if you keep insisting that her name is Pickle. Luke is coming along nicely. He knows he’s supposed to find certain things funny, so even if he doesn’t get it he laughs like a crazy person.
The jokes that both tell leave much to be desired. Sally: “I know a funny joke: monkey!” At this she laughs and laughs and then goes on to repeat her joke 7856 times. (She takes after her father.) Luke is closer: “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other SLIDE. Get it? The other SLIDE, not SIDE but SLIDE. Get it? Isn’t it funny?” I suggested once that maybe the chicken was crossing a playground and not a road and he told me that I just don’t get good jokes.
I’m In the Powder Room today talking about how my kids’ “sense of humor” made me look bad this Halloween.
Click the badge to read my post at In the Powder Room.



