Make Room-ba For Funny

What you can do.

What you will do.

What you do do.

That last sentence never fails to turn me into a 12-year-old as I descend into a fit of giggles.

Every now and then, I wish I was more like Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly or Princess Diana. Poise, charm, grace. Descriptions that have perpetually eluded me. But I would be happy to fall into the same category as Lucille Ball or Carol Burnett.

Recently, during a working lunch, I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Then someone turned to me and said, “You have cheese in your hair.”  Of course I did. I laughed and made a comment about Joey from “Friends”, and as I removed the cheese, he pointed out that I also had bacon on my face. The laughter lightened my spirit.

The last two years have been entirely too serious. I know I have laughed less often. I used to think it was because there was less to laugh about. But that’s not true.

A story comes to mind.

Our family has always had more pets than humans. It is a constant battle to keep the floors clean. Years ago, I decided to purchase one of those little round robotic vacuums to help combat the tumbleweeds of fur and beaches of cat litter.

I read the directions and programmed the little bot to silently whisk away all the daily fur, hair, litter and crumbs.

You probably need to know at this point that we had a senior dog who routinely had accidents, and two cats who took coughing up furballs to a competitive level.

It never occurred to me that my automated new friend would attempt to clean these messes up as well.  I slept soundly, unaware of the crime scene occurring in our living room.

I awoke the next morning, excited to walk out of my bedroom to a clean floor!

Throughout the night, frustrated that the floor was still dirty, the shit-bot continued to make pass after pass over the piles of excrement and regurgitated cat hair. After its failure, the machine made no attempt to return to its base. Instead, it took a fast run at a low space under the entertainment center where it b­­­ecame wedged… its battery running out in a less-than-dramatic suicide attempt.

What greeted me that morning was a floor that resembled a very large-scale modern art piece from some weird museum of poo.

I realized that this smeared mess might take days to clean up, and I wondered if moving was an option. I mean, maybe the new artsy floor would add value to the house… and then I swear I noticed the word “help” swirled across the carpet.

At that moment, my gaze landed on the sad little poop-encrusted robot, wedged and dead under the entertainment center as if it were trying to hide, and I began to laugh. The kind of laugh that lasted so long my stomach hurt. To this day, that memory hits me and I laugh just as hard.

I feel like this is a metaphor for the crap we see when we turn on the news or tune into the negative side of social media. There is a lot of not-funny stuff happening out there, so it might be harder to find that little bot, but when the world starts spelling out “help” in shit, it’s time to look harder.

I may not ignore the sadness, but what I do do is find the funny.

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