No, this isn’t a six-foot-tall Frankenstein’s monster that runs amuck and attacks unsuspecting villagers. She’s about five foot nothing and sneaks in a “joke” when you’re not looking.
Used to be, I was the one being a smart-ass, telling jokes, and making light of the world around me. Of course, my children inherited my sense of humor and we’ve formed an alliance of like-minded mockery. My wife has always been the down-to-earth no-nonsense person that kept us on the straight and narrow. She was the straight man to our comical antics.
I blame myself for her slide into tomfoolery. I thought she was like the Rock of Gibraltar in her resistance to our raillery, but it turns out even the strongest stone has its limits.
It started out with the odd joke (and I do mean odd) at the dinner table. All forks would pause, and three sets of eyes swiveled to study this strange creature who had appeared in our midst. The jokes escalated into quips, then wisecracks, and finally into full-on mischief-making and horseplay. I swear if she slides into punning I’m moving out. A man has to draw the line somewhere.
Now she’s telling jokes and laughing hysterically, and I’m the one with the straight face wondering how this came to pass. Doesn’t she know her role? She’s supposed to roll her eyes when I say something stupid, not the other way around.
This straight man gig is for the birds.