Funny Friday, coz we all need to see the humor in life these days

I’ve been listening to way too many comedians’ clips on YouTube. It has caused the resurfacing of my dream to be a stand-up comedian. (I know – none of you saw that coming.) I can’t see that ever happening, though, not at this stage in my life, and here I sit in the frozen north with nary a venue to showcase my talent. The groups of ladies I meet with at Bible study and at Al-Anon are about the only available audience.

 Then I remember reading the books by Dave Barry, Bill Bryson, Erma Bombeck, and my friend Mary Pierce. Maybe writing is a more appropriate medium for me. Plus, I would be spared the awkward silence when no one gets my jokes. If anyone reads what I write, I can sit back and imagine them guffawing at my every word. (Wow, spell check is getting better; it recognized the collection of letters I threw on this page in my attempt to spell guffaw.)

This all started when I was just a kid. My family decided I was so goofy that they nicknamed me Knutt (pronounced “nut,” and I don’t know who spelled it like that the first time, but it stuck). They even got a T-shirt with that on it. Of course, they also bought me a T-shirt about being lazy, so I’m not sure what kind of message my parents were trying to send. (But they also bought me the purple Smiley in the picture above.)

I don’t recall anyone outside the family thinking I was funny, even though others laughed at me, but that was just because I was so awkward. Back in my day, we weren’t bullied; we were picked on. I don’t blame my low self-esteem on any of those kids, though. Remember those T-shirts my family bought me? But enough about that.

The goofiest thing I remember single-handedly doing at home was drinking a glass of water. Mom was always harping on us that we weren’t drinking enough water. Water came from the tap then, not from a bottle you bought at the store. So, one night, while everyone was in the living room watching TV, I walked into the room during the commercials. I pointed to the glass of water in my hand and announced, “Note, a glass of water.” Then I drank the glass dry.

I didn’t get any reaction out of my parents, but my sister Pat buried her head in a pillow. Not sure if that was coz she was laughing or she was feeling humiliated for me. Whatever the case, I still laugh when I think about it. What a goof I was! What a Knutt!

Most of the other comedic scenes in our house revolved around things Pat and I did. Trouble we got into. Like the time we were wrestling on one of our beds on top of someone’s homework. A pencil got jabbed into her leg, and she wore that piece of lead for the rest of her life. And never let me forget it.

But I did the research, and what we call pencil lead has always been graphite. I guess pencil graphite doesn’t have the same ring to it. But graphite reminds me of an incident in freshman English class.

Mrs. Hanson assigned us to bring in an interesting article to read in front of the class. Most of the girls found what I call “squished puppy” stories – the ones where everyone cries when the puppy gets hit by the car, or maybe he’s an old dog now and has to be put to sleep. But Kenny found an article about graphite fishing rods in an outdoor magazine.

I still can hear Mrs. Hanson’s sweet voice saying, after he had read a page, “Oh, Kenny, that was so nice, but maybe you can stop reading now and give someone else a chance to share their story.”

And I guess you want to stop reading now too.

I want to close by wishing my husband and biggest fan a very happy birthday. Taking him out for a fish fry tonight.