I am a prankster, a rascal, and a scamp, but not a joker. The nuance is recognized by other neo-intellectual wags. I have been a goof since a kid, and probably born with this shadowing personality quirk as my beautiful mom had a dry wit sterling funny bone. I am fairly sure it is genetically passed along via the rogue Scottish gene pool. It is fun to harmlessly tweak and launch a tiny zinger, here and there. Humor alleviates the seriousness of the overactive brain and lightens the bogged down heart. In too eclipsing aspects, I can’t help myself. i like to play in the sand box and not take myself so intensely I forget to enjoy the three weeks we are blessed on Earth.
I was married to another prankster – as we do better traveling in pairs. Now, I am a loner, a widow. I am okay. This deal of the cards is not the one i ever considered, so probably why I am currently in it? My brother is also a scamp but his humor is far more mysterious. If you inventoried by favorite friends they are all illuminated pranksters, in one trickster form, or another. At times we are annoying, as we prefer not to be swallowed up by lunacy of the species. Our off-handed snarky comments and devilish reviews of “how important is it, really”? are not welcomed in some dank quarters.
Other antidotes to pandemonium are risible derivatives that luckily in too many instances pass over the moment unnoticed. Yet, even in obscurity our bundle of witty nerve endings pleases ourselves. No one who is certain about their funny bone is obsequious – it goes across the grain like the edge of chalk squealed on a blackboard. Being jocose preferring a midge of comic relief is not unique to humans – many other creatures are amusing and amused. Somber affairs aside, as i can weep with the best and worse of them, my self-entertainment is probably better shared as inner laughable commentary. I learned that by the third grade.
Living and manifesting a tongue-in-cheek world view is NON-conforming. My particular minx humor is left coast (California is my native homeland). During the decades I lived on the East Coast very few there ‘got it’. I am positive I married my belletrist husband (and, he married me) because we discovered a fellow dramatist in each other – me being the rapscallion elf and him being the astute quipster.
If you can, try and not take it all soooooo seriously, even during the darkest god-awful circumstances.
The Human Condition, Rene Magritte, 1933
My grandmother attempted to swat the inner wisecracker out of me and these efforts fed my pun making. “Miss Bonnie, I am telling you right this minute, stop the shenanigans, NOW!” One would think if such anti-comic tactics did not work on my mother they probably were not going to work on her daughter, eh? My brother’s only granddaughter exhibits the same impish attitude. Audrey shortly starts a new school designed for super smarty pants in Austin, Texas . It maybe the zany but kind of classy act is a cloak to make us more readily liked or non-threatening? Or, it may be the comedy tragedy is so bizarre only wit gives it meaning.