King Solomon probably thought it unique to himself when he said, “Laughter is good medicine." But, I think it was God’s idea.
The world looked rather bleak this morning. "You look tired, Mom,” Diana said as I climbed wearily onto the treadmill, “Didn't you sleep well last night?" "No. I stayed up too late." "You look tired, too," I commented, "Didn't you sleep well?" “No, not really.“ And so, exhausted, we began our morning routine. Quite frankly, I'd rather have been home in bed. It was one of those weepy kinds of morning. That’s what you get when you pair a menopausal woman with a pregnant one. We talked, lifted weights, dried tears- then did it all over again. When all was said and done we weren't feeling much better. Figuring we'd worked off enough calories, to put them back in I queried, "Want to go to Starbucks?" "Sure, why not." We climbed into the car and drove to the popular coffee shop. Diana ordered her latte' and I, my Tazoberry Cream. What was easy for me, proved a challenge for Diana- one does not easily squeeze a very pregnant tummy through a horde of caffeine depleted patrons. Outside, the sullen gray clouds perfectly mirrored our despondency. We settled at a round, wooden table near the window and made small talk- mostly me grumbling about the cold, and wishing I'd gotten hot chocolate instead of my frosty brew. I stopped chattering when my wandering gaze landed on a rather large, unsightly bulge. On my leg. Extending from the hinder side of my knee, to mid-calf. "Well, forevermore. Wonder what that is?" It's hard to be inconspicuous in a room full of people. More so when you’re delicately groping up your pant leg. Whatever it was, it was very soft, and just out of my grasp. I . . . can't . . . quite . . .reach. . . it. Diana, nearing panic, pled in a frantic whisper, "Moooommmmm, wait, don't pull it out here! You don't know what it is!" "Probably just a sock," I say as I grapple harder. Finally in frustration I relent, "O.K. lets go- I'll check it outside." We snicker and waltz out the door. The sun is peeking through the clouds, and I notice I'm not feeling quite so blue. I shake my leg, unaware that Diana is maneuvering down the hill, and far away from me. With each jiggle I hope to coax the lump further down my leg so I can pull it out. At the car Diana slips inside, firmly shutting the door behind her. I‘m guessing she‘s praying for anonymity behind the tinted glass. Oblivious to her I press onward, shaking my leg, and shivering in the cold. My bulge hasn’t budged. Opening the door to the car I prop my leg on the floorboard, and bend determinedly forward. Like an obstetrician coaxing a stubborn baby from the womb, I work my fingers past the ankle elastic, and up the leg of my britches. Whatever is up there is coming out. I push in a little harder, determined to win. I can feel something with the tip of my fingers. Just . . . a . . . little . . . further . . . Aahhhh, the sweet savor of success. In one svelte swoop I pull my bulge firmly down my leg, and into the glorious sunshine. A little bubble of joy wraps its arms around my heart, and squeezes a giggle from my lips. I lift my head to the heavens, and laugh out loud with delight. Life is good again. There’s hope for tomorrow. Renewed energy for today. I want to shout it from the housetops, proclaim it from the mountaintops, tell the world around me I’ve found joy. But, I’m not exactly sure what I’d say. So, I tuck my bulge away, and smile. No one would believe me anyway. I mean, when’s the last time you found joy in a crumpled pair of “soon-to-be granny” panties? Laughter- it really is the best medicine. Ronda Knuth