We Could All Use a Good Laugh Right Now
Post-election, belly up with Ben and Jerry for some humor at MC's expense
Voting Day is over, though the drama is not. Making it a perfect time for some comedy, no?
So, join me for a little look-back humor at my own expense. To wit:
Most of my life, I’ve been known for being WAY too serious. (I know! Hard to believe, huh?)
People who know me, I’m pretty sure none of them would describe me as bust-a-gut funny, or even all that humorous. I’ve been notorious among ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands (of which there is only one) for never getting the punch line of jokes. People would tell a joke that had others slapping their knees, and I’d be, like, “Huh? I don’t get that.” To which they would usually shake their heads and say, “Lighten up!” If I had $1 for every time I’ve been told to lighten up, I’m sure I’d have more dollars than Biden has votes right about now.
Not too long ago, I went to a movie (pre-pandemic days) with six or seven other girlfriends. We all sat in the same row, kicking back in cushy seats and stoked on popcorn and good moods.
The film was a comedy titled Book Club; it had some of my favorite actresses and actors, and there were plenty of funny one-liners, things that any normal person would laugh out loud at, and in fact, my friends were giggling and guffawing at all the right moments.
Me? I sat there still and silent throughout the film. I don’t think I laughed or even cracked a smile.
I learned later that my friends thought I hated the film because they noticed that I never laughed. And while it’s true I didn’t think the film was that great, that was just me being me. I almost NEVER laugh out loud during anything I’m watching. Several men I’ve dated have been flummoxed (and probably pretty irritated) by my Resting Stone Face (they might call it something else entirely) when they’ve taken me to comedy clubs or queued up Jon Stewart or Bill Maher on the telly.
So, anyway, in 2008, it was IRONICALLY BEAUTIFUL that not only had I won a Florida Press Association award for column-writing … but I had won that award in the HUMOR category of all things!
(If I were to win an award like that in 2020, after my incessant online lamenting of politics and warnings about civil war, I’m pretty sure there’d be accusations of “Fake News!” a-plenty.)
Nevertheless, for the rest of eternity, I can lay claim to being “funny” based on the winning of that 2008 award (yes, I know how to milk a 12-year award for all its worth … and you should see me with a tube of toothpaste.)
Anyhoo … the only downside to winning the “Humorous Column” award was that I won it for a column that was actually very serious. I hadn’t meant for it to be funny at all.
My award-winning humor column, titled “Ben and Jerry Take a Hike,” was actually a tragic look at the seedy underbelly (and I mean that literally) of my own personal Battle of the Bulge.
So, in the spirit of giving us all a good laugh during this post-election day-pandemonium, I offer a bit of humor at my own lazy-butt, flab-sympathizing self. Enjoy it with a side of Chunky Monkey.
Ben and Jerry, Take a Hike / 2008
Someone snapped my photo recently and when I saw the picture, I just about dropped the cheesecake I was eating and nearly fell off the couch.
My name was in the caption, but surely they’d mixed me up with some puffier, pouff-ier, well, let’s just say it – fatter! – version of moi, right?
Sadly, no. It definitely was me. Looking horrifyingly like a dead ringer for the Michelin Tire Man – remember him? Growing up, he was one of my favorites. I liked him almost as much as the Pillsbury Dough Boy – who chuckled so adorably whenever someone nudged his round belly.
My crushes on chubby advertising characters aside, the picture sent shock waves through my dormant (since my divorce) vanity and I realized it was time to take immediate action.
Step One: Freak out.
Oh. Good. Grief. Is this really what it’s come to? I have to work out and eat better? After all these years of thinking a “work out” meant taking a laptop to the park and working outside? After all these years of thinking French Fries counted as veggies?
Step Two: Weigh. Measure. Freak out again.
Record results in huge poster taped inside fridge in hopes of shaming me into healthy eating.
(Fat chance. I rarely open the fridge – it’s the freezer that holds me in its thrall: Ben and Jerry hootin’ it up in there with the bottle of hooch I keep on hand for emergencies … speaking of which … .)
Step Three: Grab the hooch.
Mix massive martini to steady nerves for next phase: Search and Destroy! Empty cupboards of back-up boxes of Ho-Ho’s. Toss out Camembert and café mocha. Tell Ben and Jerry to take a hike.
Step Four: Wipe remains of Chocolate Fudge Fantasy from lips and begin mad search for sneakers. (Does anyone even call them that anymore?)
Look under bed; get sidetracked by box of old – and I mean old – love letters from men who loved me pre-Michelin Tire days.
Two hours later, with pounding headache from memories of loves lost, I stuff the box back under the bed and wonder “What was I was looking for?” Rack brains, wander into kitchen, open fridge for snack and remember … oh yeah, sneakers!
Step Five: Out the door finally!
Keep firm grip on Draculian dread of bright yellow thing in sky; try to control separation anxiety caused by being farther than five feet from the nearest keyboard; wonder what that loud rasping noise is … realize it’s me trying to catch my breath; pray I don’t have a heart attack.
Ten minutes later, return home with healthy flush. Feel skinnier already!
Step Six: Inspired by success of ten-minute stroll, devote next thirty minutes to scrolling Internet for tips on how to lose weight without breaking a sweat or giving up pasta and pancakes.
Find article that says something outrageous like “To maintain health and lose weight, experts recommend a daily minimum of thirty minutes of brisk walking.” Daily?! Thirty minutes?! Are they nuts?!
Step Seven: Daunted by the amount of energy and time and discipline it’s going to take to go from Michelin Tire-esque to Michelin Tire-less, I decide to take a break for lunch … and dinner.
Step Eight: Decide to have “final fling” before “starting over” tomorrow.
Watch reality show The Biggest Loser for inspiration -- while chomping away at a giant slice of pepperoni pizza and noshing on chocolate bunny rabbits I’d bought for Easter.
Step Nine: Go to bed feeling comatose from after-effects of pizza grease and cheap chocolate --- but optimistic: tomorrow’s my fresh start, right?
Step Ten: Wake up next morning.
Lumber to fridge. Stopped in tracks by sight of café mocha-less fridge and remember my vow – “Eat healthy!” “Exercise!”
Not sure I have the dedication it will take to go from Michelin-Tire-thighs to Mini-Me-size but as I slip on my “budge the pudge” shoes (yes, that’s my new name for them), I think … maybe … if it doesn’t rain … I just might.
Despite the current super-serious state of affairs in our nation, I hope this long-ago-written column put a little giggle in your giddy-up. xoxoxo
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