So many funny things have happened this week that made me slap my knee, but they would all be so hard to convey here, for example: I was pouring my coffee and said, “Now that’s a bummer, and my girlfriend said, “What’s a bummer?” and I said, “Everything.” You should have been there. It was hilarious, but I know you’re not laughing because so much of comedy is akin to tragedy, and often we teeter between both, laughing when we should be crying and crying when we should be laughing.
Here’s one that’s funny, one that teeters. It’s a story from 8th grade. I was 13 and the stat keeper for the awesomely HOT track team. I was surrounded by gorgeous 17 year old boys who wore the equivalent of running panties and a number. I took stats all flush, clammy, and flirtatious. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to soak up attention from older boys.
I remember it was a morning on home turf. The sun was shining, steam rising from the track. I was at a fold-up table facing the boys and giggling inappropriately at every single word from their mouths. I was sucking on lemon drops. I had had half a bag of them that morning before I completely inhaled one. There I was – perfect 13 year old make-up and entirely self-conscious, and I didn’t want to draw negative attention. So guess what I did.
I, there in the heat of wanting male approval, decided that it would be better to die than to stand up, flail my arms, and make the choking sign at my throat. So there as my lights started to go out, my body overtook me. Rather than asking for the heimlich, my body’s impulse took over and with a very LOUD regurgitative sound, like a belching canon, that lemon drop flew like a shot put about 4 yards into the crowd. The whole track scratched to a halt, and all the boys looked at me in such confusion and disgust about how that enormous sound and projectile distance could have come from that little 8th grader.
How’s that for tragically funny?
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