The question came in the UnGame the other evening. “Who is the funniest member of your family?”
We’d have to put it to a vote.
Jon – “I am!”
This from the boy who, when he scores a goal in soccer, pulls down his sports shorts and wiggle his, uh, rear. That is when he’s not sticking said rear in the air, underwear showing yet again for this one, asking if anyone can spot any holes.
Okay, it’s something.
Liz – “No, I am!”
She’s just glued on fake fingernails, a million inches long.
“If you get me a glass of water, I’ll give you my nails when I take them off in a couple of weeks,” she said to me at a recent bedtime.
“Now that’s an offer that’s hard to refuse,” I said.
“But it’s only good for 30 seconds.
Okay, the girl has something.
Hannah was next. I’d get her to vote for Dad instead of herself. Especially since Jon and Liz, in stereo, had already told Hannah that she, in fact, has a terrible dearth of humour and doesn’t stand a chance.
“Now Hannah,” I said. “Have you read any of my recent funny blogs?”
“No,” she said.
“Now Hannah,” I continued. “See that table? You eat at it every day. And that bed in your bedroom? You sleep in it every night. But if you don’t answer this question right, I can’t guarantee that any of this will continue for you.”
Liz. “Dad’s pretty funny. He’s got us laughing.”
“Me and Dad are the funniest,” concluded Hannah.
So it was pretty well tied up, this family vote on humour, and I didn’t even have to vote for myself.
(We’re not sure where Mom was during all this, nor do we know to who her vote might have went.)
But later Hannah came roaring down the homestretch. We were watching a DVD of the old Little House on the Prairie. Don’t laugh.
“These are always so sad,” someone said at the end of the episode that was called, appropriately enough, “Child of Pain.”
“Well,” I said, “most good shows have at least some sadness in them.”
“No not all of them,” said Hannah.
“Which ones don’t?” I asked.
This is our family.
We’re all a bit funny.