I'm not the funniest person in the strictest of terms. Not intentionally anyway. However, I find my friends laughing with me at myself when we are hanging out. Tony laughs at me, the master of meatloaf laughs at me... customers laugh at me. My point is, I want to always be laughing. I want to always have half of myself solidly planted in the, "c'est la vie, la vie en rose" mentality. It's not all bad. I learned not to take myself so seriously in high school. Shoowee, can we talk about some of that "poetry" written for literature club? I use the term: poetry very loosely because in looking back I realize you can fit a lot of angst onto an 8x12 ruled sheaf of notebook paper. Shoo, indeed.
My point is, I'm suspicious of people who don't laugh or smile frequently enough for my tastes.
One of the great sources of my laughter is my pets (this includes Tonster)I came home and smiled at my animals, and loved on them each equally for a little while because I read this today:
Sad Face.
A devout Christian once told me pets couldn't possibly go to heaven because they don't have souls, and the lack of opposable... um, souls, can seriously hinder one's ability to be saved by the great I Am. I can't get behind that.
Because God likes to smile too, and laugh.
Life is far to short and precious to not be able to laugh at oneself hysterically, consistently. And all of our precious furry laugh makers will meet us again in the great thereafter. Make no bones about it.
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