SlapstickA sense of humor is relative, but not necessarily reciprocal. What makes me
laugh are my own antics, the silly day-to-day blunders that allow me to take a break from my serious attempt at adulthood. As I break into a hearty, rib holding chuckle, tears streaming from my eyes, I am on a roller coaster that invigorates the ordinary routine of the day
That is why I have troubles with slapstick humor – I just don’t get it. THE THREE STOOGES come to mind. They would yell, eyes popping, at each other then, one would slap or hit or punch the other across the face, or over the head, repeatedly.
As a little girl, but a big sister, I was told, time and time again, not to do the very things that Moe, Larry and Curly were doing to each other. I must have been a curious sight, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, unsmiling, frowning in judgment.
I was deeply puzzled by the conundrum between adult rules and their humor. But my husband loves slapstick. His laughs start low in his throat, and crescendos as the antics happen like a steady beat of a drum. He picks up the rhythm of the comic scene, like a child at the circus watching the clowns in great anticipation. He thinks it is so jolly to watch grown men bonk each other, look
stunned and then bonk back. I wallow in my mud of disbelief.
Being entertained with slapstick humor today, in this world of conflict, wars, terrorism, child slavery, abused women is unimaginable for me. “Lighten up!”, my husband says to me. I crack a smile, a half smile, but he doesn’t realize that, most of all, what I am enjoying is his laughter, his escape from the invisible routines of his life, as he roars up and down on his roller coaster, tears streaming down his cheeks.
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