Humorous

Senses of humor are the dangdest things.

Read any ad for a dating service. Right up there with walks on the beach and candle-lit dinners comes, naturally, a good sense of humor. Everybody wants one. Everybody wants everybody else to have one. Generally, we like them.

So, then, why are the best ones so often punished? For instance, if in the far away land of hypothetical things a woman spills a giant cup of flavored water on the floor just before bedtime, one might imagine one of only two responses. One sense of humor is deployed immediately, barely containing the capacity even to consider keeping it selfward.

The other is not.

No, the other sense of humor is stifled instantly like hope or human will within an iron-fisted, communist regime. Nothing funny comes of it, and by distemper, jealousy or some other poisonous barb this sense of humor accomplishes something extraordinary.

It demands the stronger sense be silenced. It banishes laughter, persecutes joy and burns at the stake any semblance of happiness derived from the situation. So much for wanting that sense of humor, or at least for using it often. Dangdest things, they are. Dangdest things.