Do you love to laugh? I've always been a giggler, just ask my cousins. When we were kids I'd lie on the floor on my stomach with my chin propped in the palms of my hands and make myself giggle. What got me was the looks on the faces of my audience as they watched, in mixed confusion and wonder, the phenomenon unfolding before them. Me, rolling on the floor with tears streaming down my cheeks, laughing at absolutely nothing.
Yes, I was really that goofy.
Although I no longer practice my lying on the floor trick, I still find myself, at times, to be the only one laughing.
Yesterday, for example, Alex was reading a book and asked me, "Mom, what is crude-ite?"
"Crude-ite? How is it spelled?"
"C-r-u-d-i-t-e."
"Oh, that's pronounced crude-i-tay."
"Okay, What is crudite."
"Crudite is French for hors de'ouvre."
Then I busted into uncontrollable laughter. Alex asked, understandably perplexed, "What's so funny?"
"Get it?" I squeaked between guffaws and slapping my thigh, "French for hors de'ouvre? Hors de'ouvre is French, too!"
He didn't laugh, but that look of confusion and wonder on his face as his mother was doubled over, barely able to breath, just made me laugh even harder.
"F-f-fr-ench. Th-th-they're both F-r-ench!" Ha, ha, ha.
I'll tell you. I laughed about that all day. I told Chuck the story, thinking surely he'd find the French-for-French thing funny, but he just answered with a polite chuckle, you know, the one you give when you don't get the joke but are pretty sure someone just made one.
I guess I'm still, really, that goofy.