Sob Story

I am the only person I know who can go from laugh-till-you-cry to out-and-out-hysterical-sobbing. It’s a gift. A horrible, horrible gift that you wish you could return but your Great Aunt Sally expects to see you in the two times a year you go visit her. So in the back of the closet it sits until you notice that Easter is next week so you drag it out, dust it off, and hang it up in your closet so it will smell like the rest of your clothes and not moth balls when you shlep to Sally’s sometime between the egg hunt and the ham lunch.
Yeah, it’s like that.
Everything starts innocently enough. A board game, a comedy club, a tickle fight; these are all times when I have ended up on the floor crying like Intern Lucy was just stabbed on ER all over again. Once I reach the point where I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe, all bets are off. There are 4 steps:
  1. While gasping for breath the corners of my mouth might down turn. Now my muscles are in on it and the cry face has been established.
  2. The timber of my voice could slip down an octave and sound like a guttural moan. Or, it could shoot up an octave, making the sound of a high pitched shriek. At this point my ears are confused.
  3. The shaking that goes along with a belly laugh is the same as the heaving intakes of air. The similar body movements are enough to make my brain take off in the dark direction.
  4. One thought will set me off. The tickle fight; “I really missed Jason this week. I’m so glad he’s home. What would I do without him?” The board game; “This is great. Mom, Grandma, and I are having so much fun. I’m going to miss this when she’s gone. After that, Mom will die too. Oh Jesus!” The comedy club;…um….. I may have been a little drunk.
Jason hates this particular trait. It brings good times to a crashing halt.
“Hahahahahaha….hey, what are you doing?”
“(sniffing) Nothing.”
“Are you okay?”
“(wailing) No!”
“Aw, are you crying?”
“(hysterical sobs)”
“Yeah…you’re crying. Come here…(wraps in hug).”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I spent my Friday night. Don’t tell Aunt Sally, I was supposed to go over and look at her pictures of funny hats and tombstones she might like.

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