Ok, confession time.
And no, I haven’t been drinking, just thinking. But let’s face it, that might be just as dangerous as the alcohol. Because even when I’m not playing Drunky Brewster, I laugh at myself.
And I’m not just talking about when I fall down. But I laugh then, too. No, I’m talking about laughing at my own jokes. Or laughing at my own reflection in the mirror when I have tissues stuffed up my nose to keep it from running. I know we aren’t supposed to admit such crimes against humanity, but I do it. And damn it, I’ll do it again.
How could I possibly deny the humor in botched bikini waxes, flooding the stove, or getting locked out of the house in my underwear?
I skim through my old blogs sometimes and just laugh until I cry. I pretend it wasn’t me struggling with a pair of homicidal pantyhose, or attempting to do contortionist type moves on a fireman’s pole (wait…back up…not a “fireman’s” pole…I’m referring to a pole like the one firemen slide down. Oh, you know what I mean.)
I just run through blogs and laugh. At me.
When I’m not laughing, I’m writing things that will make me laugh. And if it makes me laugh, I can only hope it will make you laugh too. I have the best job ever…even if I don’t make a million dollars to do it. I am a full time writer/blogger/danger magnet who laughs at herself all day long.
In some alternate reality, you would likely find me locked in a padded cell where I would be pumped full of happy juice while being spoon-fed by men in white coats. All to keep me safe from the inevitable self-inflicted bikini wax.
But bumps, bruises and wax burns aside, I’m perfectly content to live where I am, juggling chickens, pigs, a giant slobbery dog, an imaginary dead president playing the part of my husband, housework, writing, and life in general, all while somehow managing to stay upright...well mostly.
Even when I accidentally drink one too many wine coolers on a Tuesday night.
Until the next time…I’ll be saving the world, one giggle at a time.