Frogs, Snails, Puppy Dogs' Tails...

     My husband was sitting at the kitchen table with me, each of us absorbed in our laptops, when he started to laugh. It wasn't a chuckle, giggle, chortle or guffaw; it was one of those laughs that grabs my attention because it goes on and on with hardly a pause for breath. I call it his heart attack laugh. Well, anything that funny I have to see for myself, so I scooted my chair closer to his to see what all of the fuss was about. Our oldest daughter had sent him this email:

     I am not completely devoid of a sense of humor so I laughed too, but mostly at my husband who couldn't stop laughing. He immediately emailed the photo to our brother-in-law who telephoned 3 minutes later. Then they were both laughing and tossing puns back and forth across the miles like a couple of boys playing catch in the backyard.

     Now, my husband bends far enough toward the erudite that I consider him cultured. He is educated; well-informed; listens to a variety of music from classical and jazz to Jason Mraz and Train; enjoys Dickens and Austen at the cinema, Shakespeare and musicals at the theater; appreciates a well appointed room and the aesthetics of a garden; and loves woodworking, photography, architecture and cooking gourmet meals.

     However, humor brings out the boy in him. He isn't a fan of blue comedy but a smart fart joke gets him giggling, guffawing or, in this instance, gasping for breath.

     I never raised a son, but I have a grandson, numerous nephews and great-nephews, and I taught 5 and 6 year-old boys in Sunday School for eleven years, so I know their propensity toward blood and guts and potty humor.

     Apparently, they never outgrow it...although it was my daughter who started it.