My Buried Sense of Humor

3585331105_877fb62eb3_mI think Mary and Karen and I have agreed that we need to maintain our senses of humor while writing this book.  (We each try to maintain our sense of humor through life, really.)  I personally am much more emotionally upbeat when I can laugh at something I’ve done or something that has been done unto me.  And the more upbeat and clear-headed I am, the better I write.

That’s kind of what we do for each other when we get together on the weekend.  We talk about our week… we try to put everything into perspective… we tease and cajole each other…in effect, we pull each other’s best self out and frontward.  Then, our best selves out front, we conspire about plot, character and dialogue.

Poor Mary and Karen have their work cut out for them this weekend.  My best self is buried… buried under boxes and boxes of poorly packed household items, pots, pans and knick knacks…under way too much furniture that lays resting in non-upright pose, under coats and jackets that have long since gone out of style and boots and shoes I have never worn.

Yup.  I am moving. ..moving during the hottest week in recorded history…while trying to practice law…while struggling to keep up with meetings, conferences and other commitments.

So…Mary and Karen. ..Here is your challenge for the weekend.  Unbury my sense of humor and convince me this is funny.

Yesterday, I left the office in the mid-afternoon heat to go home and pack up my kitchen.  But I didn’t start there.  Instead, I lifted and heaved into the rented dumpster old wood Adirondack chairs, patio furniture, old tools, boxes and boxes of “stuff.”  Then I tackled the kitchen (gratefully, with the help of my good friend Mary Ann), dividing all the 17 years of accumulated crap into boxes that we either lifted into the dumpster or placed in my Jeep.

By the time my dear Frank came home from golf, we were soaked through, achy, grimy and lightheaded.  But I was so proud of our effort.

Whereupon, Frank peered into the dumpster, a huge dumpster now half full with stuff, and, with laser vision, spotted a single yellow screwdriver.  “You threw away a perfectly good screwdriver,” says he.

So, my friends…you have a lot of work to do…unbury my sense of humor, please.

Hey, here’s an idea.   One of our characters, Gina, has to resolve some issues with men.   I think she’ll have a screwdriver story in her past.


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