KEELEY'S JULY 31-DAY CHALLENGE
Day Nineteen prompt: What's something you find funny, but others around you fail to see the humor?
Laughter is contagious. Sometimes I giggle because something's funny. Other times, I laugh as a knee-jerk response to fright, grief, or embarrassment. The context matters, but the reaction is less so.
When I was younger, I had a dream bedroom. I loved my purple shag rug adorned with white feminine furniture. It was eye-appealing, but it had one major flaw. Whoever constructed the bed frame made it hard and unyielding. Whenever I walked through my door and down the path between my bed and dresser toward my desk, I'd stub my toe. At the first point of impact, tears flowed as the pain seared, and then within seconds, while writhing in discomfort atop my mattress, I'd laugh. I laughed uncontrollably at my stupidity for repeatedly misjudging what little room there was to get by.
Things didn't stop there.
I had friends who liked to visit my cozy bedroom. They also often misjudged the narrow aisle and stubbed their toe. While writhing in pain, they looked to me for comfort — for sympathy. They chose the wrong person because I could never hold back my hysterics. I laughed until I cried, feeling their pain but revelling in the humour despite of it. How stupid my friends were, I'd thought, with the understanding there's beauty in numbers. I guess you could say I wasn't the type of friend you'd want around in an emergency.
But you'd be wrong.
My laughter comes from the belief that you've hurt your pride. You also may experience surface pain. I laugh at that too. But the moment things get serious, all humour subsides. If you are truly hurt, there's no more fun. All the laughing stops, and I show genuine concern.
Now, this is your chance to turn the tables around and pull one over on me. I'm as gullible as they come, so if you pretend to be seriously injured, there are no bounds to how far my compassion goes. But you best be careful. I don't forgive easily. If you abuse my good nature and lose my trust, it's very difficult to get it back.
So, in Keeley Schroder's words, what's something I find funny that others fail to see the humour? It's when you do something I consider silly or harm yourself because of stupidity, regardless of the painful outcome. Many people might call this behaviour schadenfreude. I wouldn't disagree. I feel slightly guilty for laughing at your pain, but does it help for you to know I also laugh at mine?
Yeah, I didn't think so.
That explains why in my adulthood, I have so few friends.
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