Sometimes I wonder why the girls haven't plotted to sneak in the bedroom and shave off my eyebrows or draw a moustache and goatee on my face with a black permanent marker. I don't mean to laugh at the two beautiful girls I brought into this world - I just can't help myself.
The folks who have known me for a long time will recall that I have this personality disorder which forces me to laugh when others stumble or fall down. Not the nursing home crowd, the ones walking with the assistance of a cane. Please - I'm not that cruel and twisted. There's just something about people taking a tumble that makes me 'bout pee in my pants while tears course down my face. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks, hard, when the younger daughter recently tripped and stubbed her toe on the fireplace hearth. No broken skin or blood - just me trying not to bust a gut.
The other thing that makes me howl with laughter and snort 'til Diet Coke spurts outta my nose is when people mispronounce words. The oldest daughter was reading aloud from her latest English novel, Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, yesterday afternoon. Admittedly, the language is a bit of a challenge for most modern day teens. Some of the words even give me pause and I'm not above admitting that I've had to resort to the dictionary a time or two just to clarify or verify meaning. But to hear such formal writing get butchered every couple sentences with some obscure word getting garbled just cracks me up.
It's ridiculous stuff like this that tickles my funny bone and has me all but rolling across the floor. I oughta be ashamed of myself, and I will be as soon as I can quit laughing like a loon.