Being a person who sees the humor in everything, and can laugh at just about any situation, I read a lot of humor—both because I’ll find the funny bits of something that is only incidentally funny and because I seek out the writings of funny people. Thus I often find myself wondering what it must be like to know them personally; I imagine their spouse must constantly be in stitches, their friends and family must tell everyone that they know just the funniest person alive, etc.
This explains why I resisted blogging for so long, and resisted the idea of calling it a humor blog for longer still: in my mind a humor writer was someone who must be dazzling in person, always “on,” entertaining in every moment and aspect of their lives. The sort of person who couldn’t go for a drink without having an adventure, who would go for a walk and end up in the wrong country.
You know how it turned out, because you’re here: at the nagging insistence of a few beloved friends, I did the thing and here we are and you know I’m glad. But… I still worry that I’m not quite in the mold, you know?
Then we had an evening with our lovely friends, Bear and Betty. Not their real names, but we do indeed call him Bear sometimes because that’s his name and I’m going to call her Betty because she reminds me of Betty Rubble and she’s my 1950’s housewife.*
Bear and Betty are just about our only friends who not only read the blog, but mention it to our faces. Since I evolved some time ago into an organism that is sustained entirely on adulation and fermentation (the chocolate is just for antioxidants) we spend as much time with them as possible.
Which brings me to this update: I did indeed finally hear from Offspring! He’s not dead, and I was able to write a letter to him so all is well. What’s that got to do with Bear and Betty and my worries about writing humor? Well, I’ll tell you…
ME: So I got the letter from Offspring but of course he put no return address in it—
BEAR: Of course!
ME: And he said he messed up his RN anyway, which I could have told him… so he corrected that but didn’t include any of the other information! So I went on another google hunt—because of course I’ve been googling how to write to someone in basic, and what to write to them, what sorts of things they’d like to read in a letter, what stationary to use—you know, my usual crazy.
ME: And I found this blog that explained the stationary issue and said I should be getting a letter from the commander with the full address and not to even bother writing until I’ve got his instructions. So I went back out to the mailbox—
HIM: Because she’d grabbed the one thing rather than everything.
ME: Okay, you’re really going to have to let that go.
HIM: It’s just—
ME: (to Bear) We have a rule that you don’t dig the one thing you want out of the mailbox, you either bring it all in or you don’t look. But there was a letter from my son and I had the cat with me pulling on his leash so I think I can be excused just this once.
HIM: But you went back out again and dug out the other “one thing”—
ME: ONE DAY, THEN! You’ve really got to just shut up about this.
HIM: You got the mail twice and I still had to go get it. That day!
BEAR: (laughing) Better watch it; I sense a blog post!
You see, here I am worried that anyone who thinks I must be funny in real life will be disappointed but I’ve got one advantage over those cagey fiction writers: I’m already telling you about my real life. You can’t be disappointed any more than you already are!
Wait, that came out wrong.
Ooh, hey, look over here!
BEAR: Your blog is hilarious.
BETTY: Oh, we live for your blog.
BEAR: (to Husband) Although sometimes I feel bad for you!
ME: Why? He knows what he said.
HIM: It’s really more about her, anyway.**
ME: (looks ‘round for cameras)
* True story. I proposed after my first bite of this amazing rhubarb thing she makes, and her response was, “My husband doesn’t like it when I have sex with women.” I argued, “Who said anything about sex? I’m talking marriage!” She agreed to be my 1950’s housewife and cook for me; I still owe her pearls. I am a bad friend.
** Yes, he really does insist that the whole blog is about me. And, I mean… this post was technically about me but I still had to use him as a lens and narrative device! Holy shit, what does that say about my self esteem?*** Best not to think about it; look back at the majority of posts and you’ll see it’s all about him. It’s right there in the name of the blog, ffs!
*** It says your therapist won’t be out of work any time soon, honey.