Living on the edge

The best sort of joke is the one where, in the split second after it leaves your mouth, you experience a breathless moment of panic while you wait to see whether the joke's recipient will find it amusing or offensive.

For example, a mother recently wondered aloud in my presence why she was wearing a Cocopeli pin if he was a fertility god and she was over fifty. I helpfully suggested that perhaps it was for her 18 year-old daughter. I then carefully examined her eyes for any preliminary signs that I should commence fleeing across the dining room. Fortunately, she elected to consider my comment funny rather than grounds for a duel.

Sometimes I think that my appreciation for this sort of thrill verges on the dangerous side, like those who sate their taste for adrenaline by throwing themselves down steep hills with scant protective outrer-wear. In fact, those of you who know me personally should probably agree to some threshhold limit of offensiveness, which, once reached, should require you to kindly tie me down and have a humor intervention.


*Eclexia is going to be dormant for a week or so, as I am about to journey to the far off land of Costa Rica.