I love to laugh. Out loud. ‘Til tears stream and and my nose resembles a leaky faucet. The contagious kind of laughter that involuntarily affects anyone who sees or hears you, so that they, too, must join in, regardless of whether they know its origin or reason. Surely laughter is one of the greatest of all endorphine releases and I am certain it is one of God’s most generous gifts to man.

Last night I had one of those laughs, and given my Pulitzer prize-winning investigative reporting, it was nothing short of chocolate icing on the proverbial chocolate cake.

During Thomas’ basketball practice, we decided to grab a quick bite at Chick-Fil-A and run a few errands (including the Target run). Rachel and Stephen found a table, loaded up on straws, napkins and a gazillion ketchup packets (we really should tip somebody). While Tad was paying, I took our drinks to the table, then returned to the counter to pick up the rest of our order. The customer behind us had apparently already placed his order, and at the exact moment I walked up, I heard him say, “Can I have some Pomeranian sauce with that?”

(I’m giggling right now just thinking about it.)

OF COURSE I had to ask, “Excuse me…but did I just hear you ask for POMERANIAN SAUCE??!” And he said, “Yes, I guess my mind’s on my dogs. They’re in the car.” I politely inquired as to whether they were Pomeranians.

“No, they’re Pekinese.” (snort silently, RESTRAIN YOURSELF WOMAN, NOW!!!)

I quickly replied that I needed to know where his car was so I could warn his poor animals as to what he had in mind. I had Hannibal Lechter thoughts but with dogs, which is just about as gross. Unless you live somewhere very far from here in a country where dogs and horses aren’t exactly pets.

The cashier kept a straight face as she handed over the Polynesian sauce. She almost seemed like she didn’t notice, but my mocking and condescending incredulous look must have given her a head’s up. Who knows, maybe she hears this line all the time.

As I came back and recounted the story to Tad and the kids, they joined in the gigglefest–I could barely re-tell the conversation between snorts & snot & tears (oh, my!). Except, this time, I’m afraid they were laughing AT me, not WITH me.

Honestly, I don’t care which…and even though I’m not a smoker, I almost needed a cigarette;).

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