I laugh in the face of normal
“You get yourself into some terrible shituations you do,” a friend told me today, when I was telling her about another one of my many scrapes and escapades in the on-going saga that is my life. “See what I did there?” she said proudly, “I coined a new word for you; you can have that for your blog.”
The thing is it’s true. Shituations is a really good word to describe the place I often feel I’m in; although what normally goes through my head isn’t the usual plan of escape or the urge to wriggle out of it (taking anyone and everyone down with me, like is often the norm) but the irrepressible urge to laugh and then write about it later.
It reminded me of a time a few years ago, ordering pizza with one of my best friends. We’d perused the menu and I’d got it into my head that I could, with very little effort, make him order a twelve inch penis over the phone, instead of a twelve inch pizza. I started slowly – every time he asked me what kind of pizza I wanted, I whispered the word “penis” over the top of the word “pizza” to throw him off the conversation. As he dialled the number I said the word repeatedly and then, as the woman answered to take his order, I did the universally recognised sign language for blow job every time he looked at me.
Apoplectic with rage at just having ordered two twelve inch penises from a surprised woman at Dominos, who wasn’t even in possession of one, he jumped up and screamed at me “No wonder you’re always getting yourself into bother. Your whole life is a Freudian Shit – I mean SLIP!”
I fell about at the irony and so did he; we spent years repeating it to each other. The funny thing is that that’s exactly what life is. I still have to repress a terrible urge in the most serious of meetings to whisper a naughty word to someone, or draw a rude thing on their note-pad. I’ve been known to do coarse sign language when no one but a friend is looking. But then, I wouldn’t trust anyone who didn’t, would you?