My husband Ken and I have a saying for when something happens that's hilarious but is rather on the intimate side and wouldn't be appropriate to share with anyone else. "Well that's a joke we can't tell anywhere."
This might be one of them.
But with Ken's permission, and hopefully some polite interpretations, here goes.
For this story to make sense you need to know that a feature of our 45 years of marriage is that we have remained, to this day, quite flirty with each other. Often as not this is heavily laced with innuendo and double entendre. Ken is much worse better at this than I am. We usually keep it on the down low, but every once in a while....
We're in Canadian Tire during a day trip into Midland, and the only items on our list for this store is a rather particular garbage receptacle for the new bathroom in the bunkie, and a measure of electrical wiring to finish hooking up the septic pump. These two items are related given we do not flush toilet tissue into the septic system here (ahem). This is not the intimate part yet.
These two items are, of course, on the shelves of entirely opposite ends of this standard sized Canadian Tire. Of course they are. I suggest we divide and conquer, but Ken wants to stay together, and makes like he couldn't bear for us to be apart. A slight roll of the eyes from me. But also....Aww. So off we go for our romantic big box store hike, me in the lead.
About half way to our destination towards the garbage cans, I can hear Ken right behind me, rather loudly panting! Like a dog! Doing a rather bad imitation of it, to be honest. Just this loud, open mouthed panting! Come on!
There aren't that many people in the store, but really? Does he have to be so loud? And so fake-sounding? Oh brother!
So I turn sharply around to offer a quick glare as wives do when in public with husbands who are embarrassing them. And there, right behind me, is a woman. With her dog. A large dog. A lab I believe. Who is panting. Loudly.
She pulls back, and we stare briefly at each other, all three of us; me, the woman and her loudly panting lab. It's an awkward moment because all I can think to say is, "Oh sorry, but I thought your dog was my husband." Gratefully these words stay in my head, and I pretend I had only just changed my mind and wanted to head back in the other direction. Which now I did. Want to. Head back. To find Ken.
Where is that guy? He's ducked into a completely random aisle because furnace filters were on sale. By the time I finally locate him, I'm not annoyed at this extra, totally unannounced excursion. All I want is to tell him what just happened.
But I can't. I get into one of those uncontrollable fits of laughter where you try to start the story but you can't even get past the first two words. I try, but it's suddenly way funnier than it actually was. I am laughing so much I have to stop and breathe, and wave my hand in front of my face a bit. Tears. I compose myself and begin again. But I can't say it, because it's too funny. This goes on for minutes.
Ken's turn to be embarrassed, and rightly so. A man walks by slowly, glancing at us sideways, wondering what's so entertaining about the furnace filters. Which makes it even funnier, and off I go again. And now Ken can't help it. He doesn't even know the story yet and he's laughing too. At me.
I'm finally able to compose myself a little (probably because in the midst of all that I found myself suddenly wondering where the bathroom might be) to tell him what happened. His response? He opened his mouth and panted loudly, like a dog. And actually, he was more convincing than the lab.
This happens to me a lot while I'm up here at the cottage. Not the mistaking a panting dog for my husband thing. The laughing myself silly thing. And usually it doesn't take much. Our little adventure in Canadian Tire, yes that was funny. But often as not, just the smallest of triggers will set me to gasping.
Ask my family. They love it when this happens. Me not so much. It feels out of control somehow. Which is probably why, except for the guy in the furnace filters aisle, mostly only my family has seen me in such a state. And usually only at the cottage, once I've been here long enough.
Maybe I don't laugh enough in my 'regular life'. My kindergarten teacher observed on my first report card, "Ruth Anne takes life too seriously." True. Kind of how I'm wired. And for a measure of what I'm called to do, I carry sorrows. So there's that.
Don't worry though. God has also given me so many joy-filled people in my life to help me lighten up, grandchildren being among the best at it. They bring me the good medicine of a joyful heart (Proverbs 17:22). Laughter is good medicine, supposedly reducing blood pressure, boost immune systems, and even burn off a few calories. If you wan to check it out: What Happens to Your Body When You Laugh. Perhaps, actually, it's a very sensible thing to laugh ourselves silly.
So here's to hilarity. To laughing ourselves sensible. To joy and fun and all things ridiculous.
The long weekend is here. Have fun and be silly.
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