I had her cracking up. She was laughing hard. I could tell she was digging my stories. I was really killing it. The room was mine.
Um, the room was a sterile, over-lit doctor's office. The woman laughing was my gynecologist.
Yeah, that's right. When I am uncomfortable and nervous, I tell jokes and stories. I try to find the funny and I try to make people laugh. And the gynecologist's office is a place where I feel uncomfortable and nervous.
Seriously though, funny stories aren't told just when I feel nervous. It's pretty much anytime.
And yeah, that's right, people laughing at and digging my stories is like a drug to me. It's my lifeblood. It's my Sally Field "you like me, you really like me" moment over and over.
It's not that I can't be serious and dark. Oh, I can be dark alright. But usually I make fun of how dark and twisty I get and get a good laugh out of it.
My husband gets mad at me sometimes when I self-depricate a little too much. When I go too far. Oh, I can go too far alright.
Because underneath a lot of the laughing and funny stories, is a fragile ego full of uncertainties and insecurities. Waaah.
Metaphor alert--Insert picture of colorful yet fragile glass. (I never claimed to not be predictable.) |
But as I get older, I am accepting who I am. I am someone who needs to take the edge off with a joke. I am someone that needs to tell a story. I am someone that needs approval, even from my gynecologist. And by the way, my genecologist is a cool chick who's delivered my babies and walked the very hilarious, yet cruel journey of pregnancy with me four times. The fact that she still thinks I'm funny and likeable may just be my best approval coup ever.
Since, I'm out of things to say, here are funny pictures from the weekend.
JT wanted this to be his new winter hat. I almost bought it for him, because c'mon imagine him on the play ground with this hat. |
I love that JT used chopsticks to eat his cheeseball dinner. That=funny to me. |
This is what I'm going to be for Halloween--sexy, slutty pirate beer lover. |
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