In our family, if my sisters and I get a fit of the giggles, it is all over. We lose ourselves in laughter, we can't catch our breath, our eyes water, and we have zero arm strength. So of course, we often find ourselves laughing when we are trying to movie heavy-ish furniture.
It's actually pretty funny. Unless you are the husband trying to get help from a couple of giggling, weak limbed girls. I think it's less funny for him.
Laughter is ingrained in me. I try to see the humor in things, so later, after the sharp edges of a bad moment wear down, I can give a chuckle over bleached sheets or metal springs hidden in butter. If it will make a good story, I will do my best to make it a great story!
Today, I tripped in front of the bank and tore my tights (no amount of clear nail polish or tiny stitches holding round holes closed can save them this time) and my knees were skinned. My wallet popped open on the sidewalk and my paycheck started blowing down the sidewalk thanks to the wind storm we are having.
Now, if that's not the making of a good story, I don't know what is!
I'm going to hold a cold rag to my bruised knee, and laugh while it hurts. It was pretty funny, seeing that rectangle of paper decide to make a break for freedom, while I was stuck in slow motion, regaining my feet in an alarming lackadaisical manner.
I caught it, switched over to my regular glasses, and made sure I was watching for the dastardly curb that caught my feet but not my eyes!
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