A few nights ago, Kyle and I were driving home when he made a joke and I proceeded to laugh.
I kind of dislike my laugh. Not my regular haha-that’s-sort-of-funny laugh or my heheh-laughing-to-be-polite laugh but the long, drawn-out old man wheeze that comes out of me when I think something is really, really funny.
“I love your laugh,” Kyle said.
“I don’t,” I said. “I sound like a hundred-year-old man!”
And Kyle made a mistake.
And so then I laughed.
And then he laughed because I was laughing.
And so of course…I laughed again.
“Can’t-breathe—wheeze—stop it, Kyle—wheeze…”
“Shut up! Ow! Haha, stop it!”
“It hurts! It really hurts—wheeze—“
“Elizabeth, cut it out! Ow, ow, owie!”
“I’m going to die—wheeze—help me—ow—“
“AAAAAAAAAAAA NO MORE NO MORE—gasp—I CAN’T—gasp—TAKE IT…”
We actually had to pull over on the side of the road because Kyle couldn’t even drive the car, he was laughing so hard.
I can’t remember the last time I felt so good.