"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"A lion who's in the bathtub with a cake on his head and then someone comes in and there are bubbles..." He trails off as his laughter increases from small giggles to body shaking gafaws (the sounds people make when laughing are quite hard to spell). As Brinden would laugh everyone else would just gaze at him with with looks of concerned wonder on their faces.
As Brinden has gotten older his jokes have gotten better. Like once at dinner he told us a story his friend had told him about a girl at a camp where she was a counselor. The camper was named Jessica, but preferred to be called Miss Shale (M-I-S-S, Shale). When he told the story and he quoted Jessica, excuse me, Miss Shale, he spoke in a fantastic black American accent that had everyone laughing. (It's not racist if that's how she talks—you know what I mean.) Then he continued to speak like that the whole rest of dinner. He is a crack up.
I guess I think of myself more as clever than funny. I like to say things that people have to think about for a second before they laugh. Sometimes I explain the joke and I think that's really funny ("Get it? Because Bruce wears a vest.") but usually I'm the only one that laughs at that part. Karim says that my dad and I tell smart people jokes. She doesn't usually get them so what does that say?
Fun fact: if someone says something that you don't think is funny but was supposed to be, you can fake laugh like so: ar ar ar or op op op. (Although, I must say that some people find it offensive. I myself find it regular, says Megan.)
Sometimes when I am walking home alone I think back on my day and, in remembering something I either said that was funny or should have said that would have been funny, I smile really big and laugh out loud and I wonder if anyone thinks I am crazy. I know that Steph would because everything is better if you pretend that everyone you see is a member of an insane asylum. You should really try it.
