If you are following my #Bloganuary challenge, you might have noticed a missing entry yesterday. The prompt was: “Who is someone that inspires you and why?” It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was already getting annoyed with the uninspired prompts before I saw that one. “Who’s your hero?” i.e. “Who is someone that inspires you?” is at the top of the ‘vexing questions’ list for me. Unfortunately, I could not just skip the prompt because I have committed to the challenge. In order not to break the chain of the challenge but also not to put out a terrible, terrible post, I decided to write it but to make it private. Win-win!
One of the things I complain about quite often is the lack of comedy movies made these days that make me laugh. I seem to remember movies being actually funny back in the day. Is it because I was younger and stress-free? Or because the comedies of today simply suck? Share your views on that in the comment section, please. Also, if you have some suggestions for me to watch, share that, too.
I find that it is very easy, and difficult at the same time, to make me laugh.
Today, I present to you a fictional story in response to the January 7th challenge prompt.
“I must have been about eight years old…” Andy’s eyes shifted to the left. “Yes. Eight,” he nodded proudly. “For my eighth birthday, I got a Penguin action hero. The Joker was what I got for my ninth. I remember my mom telling me to put Penguin away as we exited the car. In my pocket, he went.
My pants kept slipping as I walked forward. My dad thought it would be OK for me to wear jeans, but my mother insisted that a suit was the only way to go. Since we did not really have the time for me to get measured, my mom just bought the first suit she could find. It was at least a size too big. The white shirt she got for me must have been for a teenager because we had to roll up the sleeves multiple times before they stopped showing from underneath the jacket.”
“To the point, please,” Amanda prompted.
“Of course,” Andy smiled, appreciating the no-nonsense approach.
“My parents and I walked into the church and went right up to the front where the casket sat on the catafalque. My mom’s eyes were red, her face puffy. The handkerchief soaked. She had not stopped crying since she got the call. Dad held her hand and supported her back with his other arm. Even though he wore sunglasses, I knew he had been crying, too. He and my grandma had a good relationship. Plus, he hated when Mom cried, so he cried with her whenever she did.
We knelt down to say a little prayer and that is when it happened – I burst out laughing.
I think my mom was too hysterical to notice, but my dad elbowed me in the ribs and sent me a ‘What the heck?’ glare. For a split second, I tried to stop it, but soon enough, I was laughing even harder. That stupid woman refused to let me watch Dexter one day when Mom and Dad went out and now she was dead. I thought she got what she deserved.
When my dad yanked me outside, I tried to explain to him why I reacted the way I did, but it seemed to only make him angrier.
That is when I first realized that I might be … different … from other people.” Andy looked out the window in longing. It was then that he began to worry that this time around they might actually succeed in keeping him from roaming free again.
The main reason as to why I opted to go with a more negative version of laughter is because I saw SO MANY of the other #Bloganuary posts titled “Laughter is the best medicine.”
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