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I often wish I could tell a great joke. I have tried. It. Just. Doesn’t. Work.
Timing? It’s all off.
Not to mention the fact that I can never remember the punch-line.
Worse yet for my comedic career? I laugh at my own jokes.
Don’t get me wrong. They’re not actually funny. They’re so bad; they make me laugh.
If I’m tired, “forget about it”!
That’s what happened last Friday night when my husband and I went to dinner.
I was so tired.
“How tired were you?”
I was so tired that my joke fell flatter than a rental car’s tires whose driver drove over the entrance grate backward.
(I told ya.)
This sleepy sista gets super slap-happy when she’s had no slumber. Our poor waiter was my most recent victim.
My husband and I were having a nice dinner last Friday. I needed to unwind after attending a two day seminar. I had crammed information in my brain kind of like I do getting me into my pants half the time.
Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze. How much more can I get to fit? Let me lie on the bed and wriggle around a bit. No. I am not having a seizure. I had an extra brownie last night. Or I’m just bloated from too much salt. Or so I tell myself.
Here’s my brain oozing out of my eyeballs when I decide, this is the perfect time to start telling jokes. I told my husband, Sam, the joke. He loves me. So he has to laugh. Then, because he is such an encourager, he told me I should tell the joke to our waiter. Good deflect, Sam.
Poor Matt didn’t know what he had coming when he was assigned our table. After dessert – why can’t I fit into my pants half the time? – I decided to lay it on Matt. Sam kept telling me, “He’ll love it”.
Matt, the good sport that he is, said, “I love jokes. I’d love to hear your joke.”
He’ll never make that mistake again!
Me: Knock (Laugh,Laugh), I can’t do it.
Matt: I want to hear the joke.
Me: Knock (Laugh, Laugh), No, you (Laugh) don’t (Laugh). I can’t.
Matt: Yes, you can.
Me: Knock, Knock (Laugh, Laugh, Laugh)
Matt: Who’s there? (As he thinks to himself, the things I have to endure in order to get a decent tip.)
Me: (Laugh, Laugh, Laugh) Or (Laugh) ange (Laugh, Laugh)
Me: (More Clearly) Orange (Laugh Hysterically)
At this point I have no idea what Sam’s thinking. I’m paying close attention to my captive audience. Matt knows he’s got cold, hard cash at stake if he can muster at least a grin. Giggles are good. Guffaws are worth at least a $10-spot. Waiter-boy, Matt, probably has a girlfriend to take out on dates – real dates to places like, you know, comedy clubs where really funny people reside.
Matt: (Are you kidding me, lady?) Orange Who?
Me: (Laugh) Knock, (Laugh) Knock
Matt: Who’s there?
Me: (Laugh, Laugh, Laugh)
Matt: Who’s there?
Me: Knock, (Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh)
Matt: (At this point I might as well just endure it) Who’s there?
Me: (Laugh, Ee-aw, Laugh, Guffaw) Banana
Matt: (Oh, thank goodness) Banana Who
Me: Knock, My side hurts. I’m not sure I can finish. Knock
Matt: Who’s there?
Me: (Laugh) I can’t
Me: Orange You (Laugh, Laugh) glad (Laugh) I said banana? (Laugh)
Matt: I think I heard that when I was in kindergarten.
Me: (Laugh, Laugh, Laugh)
Me: (Holding my stomach, bent over trying not to guffaw. I didn’t want to disturb the large family gathering at the table next to us. Because, you know, I’d already made a big enough scene and all.)
Sam: Check please. (As he thinks to himself, this joke’s going to cost me.)
You know how you do something and then, upon reflection, you think better of it? The town we live in has very limited restaurant options. I am bound to run into my buddy Matt the next time Sam and I go to dinner.
If he doesn’t bolt out the door, I’ll behave myself. I’ll confidently order orange roughy for my main course, holding my expression serious and straight. When Matt later approaches to inquire about dessert, I’ll order bananas foster. As he delivers the delicacy, and asks, “Will there be anything further?”
I’ll respond, “Orange you glad I ordered bananas foster?”