“What a great topic!” I thought, “Inspired! I can do that one, easy…..”
And it was at that point that I realised that I don’t laugh, not really. It’s not that I’m a morose and generally miserable bugger to be around ( though I’d be the first to admit that that would take up a fair amount of room in my genetic make-up bag – along with the Insecure lipliner and the blusher of Not Thinking Before I Open My Mouth ) I just don’t seem to laugh much. So I sat down this evening to try and think of reasons why, and came up with these 2 main candidates :
a) I spend most of my time at home in front of a pc, either working or just randomly avoiding it, and that’s pretty much a solo timefiller. Even at my most hilarious I rarely cause myself to erupt into a belly laugh, though occasionally thoughts will cause an outbreak of smirking. And..
b) For the longest time I used to have one incisor that was ever so slightly in front of the other. As a child I’d had braces, but I’d always had more teeth than my jaw was prepared to accommodate. I eventually gave up fighting it. I realised the folly of the battle, and in the meantime I’d developed a rather hefty fear of dentists. So I left it. And left it. And for good measure, left it a little bit longer. Not so strangely the amount of smiling I did became inversely proportionate to the angle the tooth started jutting out at.
It wasn’t that great to look at, but since I spent all my time at home doing the second most popular solitary occupation ( surfing the internet ) it didn’t much matter.
Then one day, in the middle of dinner, I punched myself in the mouth.
Bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you? Well, neither did I.
One minute, “Ooh, these *are* nice chips aren’t they?”, the next I’m clutching my mouth, blood down my face, and my rogue tooth is literally hanging by a very thin string of gum and the entire family is staring at me in stunned silence. Nobody, but *nobody* knows what to say in a situation like that. Maybe they were just waiting for me to hurl myself to the ground and start beating myself to a pulp mercilessly for looking at me in a funny way or something.
So now I have a gap. I should have gone to the dentist at that point, but I still hadn’t got over my phobia, so my jaw gave me a break and decided to shuffle the remaining teeth and close the gap up a little for me. It’s really not that noticeable any more, but by then I’d just got out of the habit of smiling . I may try to get back into it at some point.
By way of research I just went and asked Hubby what my laugh sounds like. He looked at me like I’d said, “Guess how many sardines I just shoved up my nose!” before saying, “You don’t laugh…” followed by, “Hmm… and neither do I.” Not much help there then. So to move things along I cracked a smutty joke, which caused us both to snort.
So, in answer to the question, both Hubby and I laugh like dirty old perverts sitting on a park bench in the sunshine watching the Pretty Young Things In White T-Shirts go jogging by. Which is handy, cos I’m getting on a bit and it always helps to get a bit of practice in.