I is for Inappropriate Laughter

Have you ever laughed at old people falling over? Heard the crunch of their thrice replaced artificial hips and couldn't stem the compulsion to guffaw like a loon? Have you ever struggled to hold in the giggles when very serious employers stumble over their words during a very serious meeting? Or burst into incontrollable laughter when a very relaxed yoga teacher invites you to mix your energy with theirs and share their joy? Because I have. And I am not sure how much longer I can go without being punched in the face.

I have laughed or been so close to losing it in nearly every serious situation imaginable. Funerals - I am hopeless. I sometimes wear scarves so that I can bury the lower half of my face into the material and hope to Zeus that no one sees my shaking shoulders for what they truly are.

My boss yells at me every chance he can get. And I still cannot help but laugh. It drives me to tears even though I know that it sets him off even more. That makes it even funnier.

And let's not forget the time when, seated in a meeting, the mother of a fellow student got up, wobbled her way through the aisle to get to the bathroom and three quarters of the way down the line, tripped on my foot and landed straight in front of me, flat on her face. I tipped my head back and laughed so hard I nearly fell off my chair. Never mind giving the poor woman a hand up. I simply hadn't the self control to stop the laughing fit.

So, how much more of my laughter can society take, I wonder? I don't trust myself to enter religious buildings. There is pretty much a guarantee I will be chased out by enraged worshippers. And I dare not look into the mirrors in elevators, lest I see someone behind me do something or pull a face. Museums and exhibitions get me going as well - the audio component of a renaissance exhibition Judy and I recently visited had me in stitches, with all the stuffy art snobs around me glaring every time I sniggered just a little too loudly, and interrupted their art appreciation time. Apologies, but the new technique of mixing oil colours to create a more definitive palette resulting in the innocent glow of baby Jesus was just too much.

So, dear readers, Do you have the same problem? Is there no event solemn enough to stop your incessant giggling? Or do you have to put up with some fool whose mirth knows no bounds? Drop us a line and let us know what you think.

Jessenia xoxo