I’m pretty sure it’s common knowledge to you people that I can’t tell a joke. I’m terrible at it. I laugh through them, get the details wrong, and I almost always screw up the punch line. Every once in a while, I start with the punch line. I have to practice before I can do it, and by the time I’m ready, the moment’s gone. So I generally don’t tell jokes. I need to expand that personal rule to include relating funny incidents. I was SURE the lines that had me laughing ’til I cried over lunch yesterday were objectively funny, and that John would appreciate that when I told him the story. And you know? If ANYone else had told him the story, he probably would have laughed, too. But I SUCK at it. It was something to do with a guy from eastern Europe or Russia or somewhere who bench-pressed cows instead of lifting weights and how he refused to go to a regular gym here, and then a coworker of mine took that idea to its logical conclusion of imagining what that guy would say when offered a gym membership that didn’t include livestock and I SWEAR it was hilarious, but honestly, what I just wrote is pretty much the best I can do. You’re not laughing, are you?
Update: John objected. He says he promised me he would laugh when I told him the story. He did. But it was a fake laugh. A pity laugh. Doesn’t count.