The beautiful thing about approaching life with a sense of humor is that you never know when you might brighten a stranger's day.
A few nights ago, four of us sat at the large community table in a local restaurant. Lauren and I engaged in our typical jabs at one another even as we visited with friends.
Midway through our meal, a woman sat down next to our party and quietly contemplated her iced tea. She seemed to be working on her powers of invisibility, as though she had been stood up and hoped nobody noticed.
As our group was winding down, Lauren left to use the restroom, leaving her lip balm on the table. (She is addicted to ChapStick and the like. Seriously. Addicted.)
Porter said, "You should salt her ChapStick," which I promptly did.
The woman next to us could remain invisible no longer. She watched me cover the tip with salt, press it in, and carefully replace the lid. She laughed even as she avoided eye contact.
When Lauren returned to the table, four of us waited for the payoff. It might have been a full minute before she pulled off the cap and started to put the salted stuff on her lips.
We all laughed as Lauren said, "What the?" and inspected the lip balm. She laughed, too, as she shook her head and wiped off the salt with her napkin. And I gave credit to Porter when Lauren said, "Good one."
After we left the restaurant, Lauren agreed that the laugh at her expense might have been just what the woman at our table needed.
I hope so.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Shortest-Term Memory Ever
The following exchange took place last year between the mother of a lacrosse player and the father of another player.
WOMAN
Nice to see you! I'm sorry, I keep forgetting your name.
MAN
Tom.
WOMAN
Paul?
MAN
Tom.
WOMAN
Nice to see you! I'm sorry, I keep forgetting your name.
MAN
Tom.
WOMAN
Paul?
MAN
Tom.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Alternative Medicine
My daughter is due to provide a wonderful, childless couple with the ultimate Mother’s Day present in about two weeks. I can’t say enough about open adoption (or closed adoption either, for that matter). Has this made me less ruthless with the “lies” I tell her? Hardly. Her pregnancy worries provided me with lots of opportunities like this:
LAUREN
I’m craving onion bagels and the store is out of them!
COLE
You can’t eat onion bagels anyway.
LAUREN
Why not?
COLE
It has to do with the way they are prepared. It’s not good for the baby.
LAUREN
You’re lying.
COLE
No, I’m serious. Ask your doctor, or look it up online.
And she continues to fall for my stories and walk into my setups, always with grace and a well-developed ability to laugh at herself.
Two weeks ago, she asked me what she could do about her swollen feet and ankles. First, I gave her authentic advice and told her to see her doctor if it didn’t get better. Then, I told her not to get freaked out if she had to have “that more aggressive treatment—for the life of me, I can’t remember what it’s called” and began to describe a 12-inch square platform covered with surgical steel pins that was similar to a bed of nails. I explained that the doctor would place it beneath her feet as she sat at the end of the examination table, and then help her stand upright in such a way that her weight would be evenly distributed across the pins. When Lauren said she really hoped she didn’t have to have the treatment, I further reassured her that it was not at all painful, comparing it this time to the interactive Pin Art toy.
Lauren took my initial advice. The next morning, she reported that the swelling had gone down and that she was scheduled to see the doctor three days later, anyway.
COLE
Would you do me a favor? When you see the doctor, will you ask what that treatment is called? I still can’t remember, and I even tried Googling the description so I could send you the information, but I couldn’t find it.
LAUREN
Okay. I tried to find it on Google, too.
COLE
Thanks. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember the name. You know how I get.
LAUREN
I’ll ask on Thursday.
It was a long three days, and I have to admit that it didn’t go down quite the way I’d hoped. When I casually asked Lauren if she’d learned the name of the treatment, she said that the doctor had never heard of it. I pried a little more, to see how the conversation went and, sure enough, Lauren had tried describing it (“It’s not acupuncture.”) only to be met with, “No, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” If the doctor had suppressed laughter or given Lauren funny looks, it had been completely lost on her.
COLE
At any point in the conversation, did your doctor say, “Does your mom like to mess with you?”
LAUREN
No. Why?
COLE
Because I made it up. It was supposed to be a “cantaloopy” thing.
LAUREN
Oh. You’re a dork, Mom.
Yes, yes I am.
LAUREN
I’m craving onion bagels and the store is out of them!
COLE
You can’t eat onion bagels anyway.
LAUREN
Why not?
COLE
It has to do with the way they are prepared. It’s not good for the baby.
LAUREN
You’re lying.
COLE
No, I’m serious. Ask your doctor, or look it up online.
And she continues to fall for my stories and walk into my setups, always with grace and a well-developed ability to laugh at herself.
Two weeks ago, she asked me what she could do about her swollen feet and ankles. First, I gave her authentic advice and told her to see her doctor if it didn’t get better. Then, I told her not to get freaked out if she had to have “that more aggressive treatment—for the life of me, I can’t remember what it’s called” and began to describe a 12-inch square platform covered with surgical steel pins that was similar to a bed of nails. I explained that the doctor would place it beneath her feet as she sat at the end of the examination table, and then help her stand upright in such a way that her weight would be evenly distributed across the pins. When Lauren said she really hoped she didn’t have to have the treatment, I further reassured her that it was not at all painful, comparing it this time to the interactive Pin Art toy.
Lauren took my initial advice. The next morning, she reported that the swelling had gone down and that she was scheduled to see the doctor three days later, anyway.
COLE
Would you do me a favor? When you see the doctor, will you ask what that treatment is called? I still can’t remember, and I even tried Googling the description so I could send you the information, but I couldn’t find it.
LAUREN
Okay. I tried to find it on Google, too.
COLE
Thanks. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember the name. You know how I get.
LAUREN
I’ll ask on Thursday.
It was a long three days, and I have to admit that it didn’t go down quite the way I’d hoped. When I casually asked Lauren if she’d learned the name of the treatment, she said that the doctor had never heard of it. I pried a little more, to see how the conversation went and, sure enough, Lauren had tried describing it (“It’s not acupuncture.”) only to be met with, “No, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” If the doctor had suppressed laughter or given Lauren funny looks, it had been completely lost on her.
COLE
At any point in the conversation, did your doctor say, “Does your mom like to mess with you?”
LAUREN
No. Why?
COLE
Because I made it up. It was supposed to be a “cantaloopy” thing.
LAUREN
Oh. You’re a dork, Mom.
Yes, yes I am.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
C-A-N-T-A-L-O-U-P-E
From the movie Sabrina (1995):
SABRINA
Didn’t you once say everything is business?
LINUS LARRABEE
No, but it sounds like me.
Lauren and I were not involved in the event described below, but it sounds like us. The actual participants were my parents’ friends—I’ll call them “George and Alice.” Had this been a scene from our lives, I’d have been George, and Lauren-as-Alice would have taken it well.
George and Alice were on a road trip. Pointing out a handwritten sign at one of the many fruit stands along their route, Alice said, “That’s funny! They spelled ‘cantaloupe’ wrong; they put an ‘e’ at the end.”
George shook his head. “No, the sign’s right. It says ‘cantaloopy,’ not ‘cantaloupe.’ It’s another kind of melon.”
Duped by George on a regular basis, Alice was skeptical. “It is not! They just spelled it wrong.”
George proceeded to tell Alice everything he knew about “cantaloopy.” The plants weren’t very hardy. Perhaps only two or three regions in the country had the right climate for growing them. The melons were a little smaller and not quite as sweet.
“Then why haven’t I heard of them before?” she asked.
“Well, they’re one of the more expensive exotic fruits, so most grocery stores don’t carry them.”
Having supplied enough plausible details without cracking a smile, George convinced Alice he was telling the truth. Meanwhile, he scanned the handwritten posters of every fruit stand they passed until he found one that did not advertise “cantaloupe.”
George stopped the car. “I need to get out and stretch my legs.”
“I want to get something to eat,” said Alice. “Do you want to come inside with me?”
“No, I’ll wait out here,” he said, adding, “Why don’t you see if they have ‘cantaloopy’ here? I’d like to try one.”
“Okay.”
Unable to find any of the rare melons on her own, Alice asked an employee if they had any “cantaloopy.”
“You know,” she clarified, “the one that’s spelled like cantaloupe, but with an ‘e’ at the end.”
George and Alice are no longer married.
SABRINA
Didn’t you once say everything is business?
LINUS LARRABEE
No, but it sounds like me.
Lauren and I were not involved in the event described below, but it sounds like us. The actual participants were my parents’ friends—I’ll call them “George and Alice.” Had this been a scene from our lives, I’d have been George, and Lauren-as-Alice would have taken it well.
George and Alice were on a road trip. Pointing out a handwritten sign at one of the many fruit stands along their route, Alice said, “That’s funny! They spelled ‘cantaloupe’ wrong; they put an ‘e’ at the end.”
George shook his head. “No, the sign’s right. It says ‘cantaloopy,’ not ‘cantaloupe.’ It’s another kind of melon.”
Duped by George on a regular basis, Alice was skeptical. “It is not! They just spelled it wrong.”
George proceeded to tell Alice everything he knew about “cantaloopy.” The plants weren’t very hardy. Perhaps only two or three regions in the country had the right climate for growing them. The melons were a little smaller and not quite as sweet.
“Then why haven’t I heard of them before?” she asked.
“Well, they’re one of the more expensive exotic fruits, so most grocery stores don’t carry them.”
Having supplied enough plausible details without cracking a smile, George convinced Alice he was telling the truth. Meanwhile, he scanned the handwritten posters of every fruit stand they passed until he found one that did not advertise “cantaloupe.”
George stopped the car. “I need to get out and stretch my legs.”
“I want to get something to eat,” said Alice. “Do you want to come inside with me?”
“No, I’ll wait out here,” he said, adding, “Why don’t you see if they have ‘cantaloopy’ here? I’d like to try one.”
“Okay.”
Unable to find any of the rare melons on her own, Alice asked an employee if they had any “cantaloopy.”
“You know,” she clarified, “the one that’s spelled like cantaloupe, but with an ‘e’ at the end.”
George and Alice are no longer married.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Eunichs: Part II
INT./LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
COLE and LAUREN sit on couch watching television.
LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.
COLE
What?
LAUREN
Eskimos. Eskimos come from Alaska.
COLE
Eskimos?
LAUREN
Not eunichs.
COLE
(laughing)
Did Mr. Szmidt clear that up for you?
LAUREN
Yes. Yes, he did.
COLE and LAUREN sit on couch watching television.
LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.
COLE
What?
LAUREN
Eskimos. Eskimos come from Alaska.
COLE
Eskimos?
LAUREN
Not eunichs.
COLE
(laughing)
Did Mr. Szmidt clear that up for you?
LAUREN
Yes. Yes, he did.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Eunichs: Part I
INT./EXT. NICOLE'S CAR - DAY
COLE drives LAUREN to high school. Junior year.
LAUREN
Where do eunichs come from?
COLE
Eunichs?
LAUREN
Aren't they from Alaska?
COLE
(suppressing laughter, avoiding eye contact)
I really don't remember. Ask Mr. Szmidt today.
LAUREN
Okay.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
It's Not a Lie, It's a Gift for Fiction
Credit David Mamet for helping me to set the record straight. After all, lying is wrong. (Ditto for stealing. The title of this article is a line from Mamet's "State and Main.")
Much of what shows up here will likely come straight from the annals of mother-daughter exchanges, because truth is so much funnier than fiction.
Take my kid, for example.
When Lauren was in her early teens, she and I began affectionately trading insults and name-calling, each trying to outdo the other. After I told her the hospital staff had made me take her home, because she was scaring the other babies, she laughed and said, "Good one, Mom."
She delivered the come-uppance a few days later, in response to the lie, "By the way, you're adopted." Without missing a beat: "Yesssss!"
I dedicate whatever follows to my redheaded, quick-witted muse. No longer a teen, she is one of "The Few, the Proud," and a living example of one willing to follow her dreams. I love you, Poots!
Much of what shows up here will likely come straight from the annals of mother-daughter exchanges, because truth is so much funnier than fiction.
Take my kid, for example.
When Lauren was in her early teens, she and I began affectionately trading insults and name-calling, each trying to outdo the other. After I told her the hospital staff had made me take her home, because she was scaring the other babies, she laughed and said, "Good one, Mom."
She delivered the come-uppance a few days later, in response to the lie, "By the way, you're adopted." Without missing a beat: "Yesssss!"
I dedicate whatever follows to my redheaded, quick-witted muse. No longer a teen, she is one of "The Few, the Proud," and a living example of one willing to follow her dreams. I love you, Poots!
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