The last time I had a good laugh was the last time I had sex. But the last time I had good sex was way longer than when I had a good laugh. Which was a long time ago! I need a good laugh. As much as I need good sex. But I really really need that deep from the soul, earth-shaking, body convulsing... Oh my god - I just realized the two for me are one and the same!
Getting back to laughter, I was the dour kid in an entertainment family. During those formative years, I was the one who rarely laughed, the only one who could never tell a joke, never understood a pun, never told a funny story. I had to wait for everyone to die to finally shine. It was a long wait. But I got the last laugh!
I experienced for the first time in my life at 17 ROFLMAO laughter. At my grandfather's funeral. It was held on a hot summer day which must've been around 100 degrees outside. There was no hint of a breeze and the sun beat down on us mercilessly. At the cemetery, my parents and I stopped for a moment to listen to an on-going service given under a tent. Inside, there were at least a hundred people packed one on top of another, seated on little wooden fold-up chairs.
Hot and bored, I peered inside the tent while ineffectively swatting at a very large fly. It buzzed around me a few times until it flew away into the tented area. The congregation then stood up for a prayer. Perhaps it was the heat inside, or possibly the odor emanating from hundreds of bodies sweating in suits. The fly skidded in mid-flight and dropped like a rock, landing on a seat. Right at that moment, the congregation sat down. And I knew the little bugger was squashed by a very big woman.
I burst out into laughter. When heads swiveled in my direction, I laughed even more. My mother, humiliated, glared at me.
"The fly, the fly," I said while gasping for breath.
My mother grabbed me by the arm and said in a loud voice, "She's delirious from grief, sun and heat," and propelled me away. I couldn't stop laughing.
My father, ready to wring my neck, kept saying, "Oh boy, oh boy."
We stopped at a water fountain and my mother moistened her handkerchief and wiped my forehead. By then, I calmed a little. "Mom, there was a fly-"
"Enough about that damn fly. This is how you act at your grandfather's funeral?"
Since then, my laughter has remained inappropriate; I find the strangest things hysterical. But what I really miss is a good laugh; it's been a long time, longer than the last time I had a good lay.
I should get out more...
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This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.