I tend to laugh at the world. Whether something’s good or bad, serious or menial, funny or lame, I’ll probably either laugh at it outright or make a joke about it. I’ll probably regret it seconds later, and then laugh about that.
Last year, one of my cats swallowed a piece of string that messed up her guts, and it caused internal bleeding. The only way to stop it was to have emergency surgery, but we weren’t expecting or ready to pay close to five grand on such short notice. We decided the most humane thing to do would be to euthanize her, and she was put to sleep.
Moments after her passing, I cracked a smile. I turned to my family, tears in everyone’s eyes.
“That string must have been to die for, huh?”
I knew it wasn’t great timing. On any other occasion, I probably wouldn’t crack a joke that soon after a beloved pet’s death.
But it made everyone laugh, and lightened the mood a bit.
I tend to deal with failing romances with humour, too. Generally, if I know I’m gonna break up with someone, I’ll either mess with them or be savagely blunt with them.
I’m not proud of many of my past relationships, but I can admit that I learned something from each of them.
Like in my sophomore year, I dated this girl we’ll refer to as Celia. Celia was my polar opposite; she was overly sexual, did drugs, self-diagnosed herself with a bunch of severe diseases and disorders… she was a real piece ‘a work. If I’m being brutally honest, I only dated her because our mutual friend, Nora, set us up.
A few months into the relationship, I knew we were gonna break up because she kept confusing me with her father. I mean, I was genuinely confused when she called me “daddy.” At first I thought she texted the wrong person, then I re-read the text, noted the nature of it, and realized it was meant for me. Once I realized this, three thoughts popped in my head:
- What in the hell is she talking about
- What in the living hell is she talking about and
- How am I gonna break up with her
Celia was my first girlfriend, and I had no idea how to break up with people. So, like my awkward teenage self, I came up with the most awkward, ridiculous way to end our relationship.
I waited a while, I think a week or two, until she texted me something else that was weirdly sexual. This one was more of the daddy stuff, and it asked for a photo or to face time or something. So I sent her two texts in response.
The first text was a photo, just like she’d asked for. It wasn’t the kind of photo she wanted, though. I sent that chick a picture of my foot, in all its gross, footy glory.
The second text was only two words, three if you don’t consider contractions to be their own words:
And so ended one of the most awkward, confusing, and all-around terrible relationships I’d been in. My time with Celia taught me that no matter how polite you want to be, you better run away or laugh in her face when she starts dumping her daddy issues on you. While I’m not too proud of it, I did get a good laugh out of the way I handled things.
And that… that is pretty damn cool.
I try to find the humour in everything. If there is none, I’ll try to create some. Looking back, I could’ve done so with a bit more grace. But I don’t regret maintaining a humourous outlook on life, even in the more serious or unfunny situations.
Makes life a hell of a lot more enjoyable.