The purpose of this post is not for you to comment and tell me how fun I am. I don’t think I’m a complete drag, but I’m also not one of those “life of the party” people, and it’s ok. I think it’s important that we understand ourselves.
There was a running joke at my parents’ house this summer about how my mother didn’t have the “fun gene.” Her sister had informed her of this, apparently with the idea that the sister does have the fun gene. Her sisters are actually both pretty fun. My mom’s about as fun as I am — in a good way, mom.
So today Anne was here. She may have the “fun gene.” (Maybe it’s recessive? She definitely didn’t get it from our father.) She’s clearly more fun than I am. She was telling me about some recent fun and funny goings-on with the family she married into, who definitely have the “fun gene.”
Later, as she was helping me with lots of non-fun things like cleaning up toys and doing dishes, I said, “We should really be doing something fun right now while I have you here.”
The punch line? (I laughed harder than I have in a long time, more evidence that I am not, indeed, that much fun.)
“Oh, it’s ok. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to be with you.”