Comedy

I ran in to get to the bathroom from outside, dropping everything on my way in. As I was about to come out D says,

"Um... Z?"

"Yes?"

"Did you mean to put your scarf under the cat?"

I found a funny one. He makes me laugh, even when I'd rather be glum. Usually it's all kinds of blessings. I cry easily, for all kinds of stupid reasons. This used to bother him a great deal, until he followed my instructions to tell me a joke. Now I can just shove his arm and order him, "Make me laugh" and we both do. Breaks the tears readily.

His sense of humor is very dry, a bit obscure and easily missed by people who do not come by sarcasm naturally. Often involving elaborate language. My first example of this was a lecture on the importance of fry sauce. He still claims this is no joke. On coming out of anesthesia, he referenced a scene from Henry V where the French princess is learning some English, and she mispronounces elbow- so what he'd broken was his "Delbow". He was amazed that his classmates found his phrase "Other than rational reasons" to be amusing. This humor is hard wired deep into his brain bed.

I make him laugh more usually with visual jokes. He cannot keep a straight face when I make a puppet out of whatever comes to hand- literally. Today on the train, the conductor's door popped open, I waved at the driver and after a beat, the driver waved back as he closed the door. There must have been something about the timing, D burst out laughing for the next several minutes. What he says he likes best is when I do voices, which means interpreting the cat's action into human voice*. Cat flops to the ground headfirst, paws up. "Pet me, I'm cute and furry!" I interpret. Or sitting regally- "You may adore me." D returns the favor by asking Moby terribly serious questions. Like, "Have you had enough sleep, cat?"

Neither of us can say anything without being taken literally. "I don't feel like pizza," is always followed by palpation and agreement. "You are right, you feel nothing like pizza" or simply a LOOK. All delivered in utter deadpan, followed by hitting with the nearest soft object, i.e. a pillow or hat, often just a raising of the eyebrows, then we both grin, or giggle.

And it's not just jokes, but a general sense of whimsy. We have a four foot blow up Emperor Penguin in our living room. A stuffed Gromit. Not to mention the stuffed cold virus toy given us by friends this Christmas. It sits on D's desk, and he delights in turning one or other side up, since one side is cute, the other sinister. "See? Cute... sinister... cute... ... sinister?" he will demonstrate, repeatedly, if you ask. Or even if you don't. He used to keep a can of Diet Chocolate Shasta on his desk, because he liked the idea of having toxic waste nearby. Don't even ask about what he would do with the dummy grenade, lost in one of our moves, sadly. Sadly only because I miss the loud "BOOM!" shout. Really, I do miss that.

Someday, I will postulate my ponderings on women with no sense of humor with funny men-if I can ever figure it out. A keen sense of funny has always been an essential for any kind of friendship for me, especially a kind, ironic sense of humor. The kind of healing laughter that follows tears and broken bones, broken hearts and griefs and losses. Keeps us from taking the difficulties of life too seriously. The exhaustion and challenges of our move across country to Boston was lightened by our bemusement at the high rise apartment we were housed in. Wherever we are, when we see the towers, we point and say "I can see our house from here!" When we move, we will have to come up with a new joke. I'm not worried.








* This I got from my Aunt Alma, who would tell me what Gigi was saying. It was a way of teaching a very young child about how to treat a dog, then a kind of game, and very entertaining. Leaving me with a lifelong anthropomorphic tendency.