Perfectionist Rehab

I have a unique sense of humor.

I’m jovial. Mirthful. Lighthearted. Merry.

I deeply appreciate wordsmithing. Laughter erupts from my belly when exposed to poignant diction. Shocking revelations. Slightly off-color descriptions that come across far worse than intended.

I, dear reader, am a giggler.

Some people laugh delicately. I am not one of those people.

I am an indelicate titterer. I guffaw. Cackle. Snort.

I’m gifted with red-faced and tear-streaked mirth over banal, trite, or even mundane experiences.

Situations that will have people question my sanity.

“What, exactly, is so funny?”

The issue with having my sense of humor is that it can often be misinterpreted. I find myself often explaining that I am laughing at clever word choice, not the content of what was said.

I’m the worst to sit next to in important meetings.

My laughter is as untamed as my hair. The reality is that I cannot contain it any more than I can successfully straighten my curls. It’s an intrinsic wildness that I have had to come to terms with.

Sometimes I think it is a blessing to be unrestrainable. Unruly. Authentic.

Sometimes I wish I could just calm down.

I have a formative memory from middle school. I was at an assembly, and my school was hosting a performance group of some kind. I’m frustrated that I can’t remember what kind of troupe they were, but I digress.

They had a projector on the stage of the auditorium. There was a camera that was panning the audience, and every so often the operator would zoom in on students.

The exact thing that middle schoolers hate. Being singled out. Attention called to them. Oh, the horror!

“If they zoom in on me too, I’ll die!”

I was sitting next to my best friend, and she said something hilarious. Naturally, I was cracking up. I was laughing so hard that my face was beet-red. Sweat was dampening my ponytail. My face was slick with tears and snot.

And the camera zoomed in on me.

When I saw my projector-enlarged melon on that screen, I lost the remaining composure I had.

I was flat out wheezing.

The camera zoomed in even further.

I started jostling around like an Inflatable Tube Man outside of car dealerships. I was rocking back and forth. Cackling. Drooling.

The camera stayed on me for an eternity.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I was lightheaded. My best friend was laughing right along with me, but she was far more composed. She sniggers. Chuckles.

I looked like I was having a fit.

This was twenty years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. I used to be so ashamed of the enthusiasm of my humor.

I’m starting to see it as a gift.

One night I was sitting on the couch in my living room. My boys were asleep in their beds, and my husband was taking a shower. I heard the tell-tale clickety-clack of my dog going upstairs. Everything was quiet.

I began to hear a small sound in the kitchen.

Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. Tap.

I mute the television and listen closer. I realized that the taps were picking up speed.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I furrowed my brow and continued listening, only to discover that the sound had evolved.

Splish. Splish. Splish. Splish.

I went to investigate. When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a small puddle forming on the kitchen island.

And drops of liquid were falling from the can light just above.

I grab a stack of paper towels to absorb the spill. I turn the pile over to look at the liquid.

An unmistakable waft cloaked the hairs in my nose.

This is dog pee.

When I tell you I collapsed in laughter, I mean it. I was on the floor in an instant, having dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I was in an absolute giggle fit.

My husband rushes down the stairs.

“What’s happening?”

I’m gasping and cackling far too intensely to get any words out. I point to the piss on the counter instead.

My husband looks at the table. Looks at the paper towels. Looks at me.

“Why are you laughing over this?”

We shut off the circuit responsible for providing electricity to that part of the house, and my husband (an electrician) sanitized the lightbox, inspected the wiring, and ensured our safety.

Perhaps the whole situation tickled me because I knew we were safe. Perhaps it was hilarious simply because it was gross.

Who wants to clean dog piss off of their kitchen counter?

Whatever the reason, be it our safety or disgust, I still laugh when I think about that night.

I’ll tell you why.

Because it’s ridiculous.