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DO THEY MAKE FUNNY BONE IMPLANTS?
Journal of Healing – Oct. 12, 2005

By Mary Koch

I apologize to regular readers of this column, even irregular readers, for not being more funny. I don’t bill myself as a humor columnist, but humor is proven to be an important component of healing.

I bought a book, “How to be Funnier” by “nationally known” comedian Roger Bates. Actually, I’d never heard of Roger Bates, but the book was on sale. I haven’t gotten too far into it. I’m kinda stuck on Chapter 3: “Self-Deprecating Fun.”

“Poking fun at yourself makes you likable,” Bates instructs. “You help others feel stronger and endear people to you.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, now that I have made you feel strong and endeared myself to you by self-deprecation, I will next delight you with a round of self-mutilation and I promise, if you laugh really hard, I’ll cap it all off with self-immolation.

To poke fun at yourself, you need a tale of woe. Your life has to be like a Woody Allen movie and, sadly, mine rarely is. I need more troubles that I can exploit in a humorous way. Like our friend Mike.

* * *

MIKE IS crushingly funny. Last week Mike’s dad forwarded an e-mail, a two-page tale of a homeowner’s weekend from hell.

It began Saturday morning when Mike’s washing machine started spitting suds in the washroom. What followed was a procession of plumbers who, at $135 a pop, created as many problems as they solved. A day-and-a-half later, the final guy fixed the mess in a quick 15 minutes – and another $135.

“You think that’s the end of my story? NO!” continued Mike. In the process of cleaning up, he dropped the 90-pound sump lid, breaking a compression gizmo and causing water to gush all over himself.

What followed was an incredible saga of trips to the hardware store, jerry-rigging of pieces, slithering down a narrow well, slopping around in gray water after dropping vital parts, and, after it was all done, slipping in the water thereby once again breaking off the gizmo and starting all over.

Of course, Mike tells it funnier, but I’ve already self-deprecated enough about my humor inadequacies.

I printed the e-mail and carried it into my husband’s bedroom, where he was undergoing his monthly acupuncture treatment. That entails lying on his bed with needles sticking into him from head to toe while “qi” or “chi” (best translated as energy, I guess) courses through his body. As I read Mike’s saga to John, he laughed hard enough to set those needles dancing and clear his lungs. We got more than our money’s worth with that acupuncture treatment.

* * *

I KNEW I could never be as funny as Mike but I was still hoping for the worst when, later that afternoon, I noticed the usual burbling sound of the dishwasher was accompanied by an unusual sloshing sound. Like water falling onto the floor. And down the walls. And into the basement.

“Oh, boy. Here’s my chance,” I thought as I phoned the plumber. Two plumbers arrived within the hour. One of them got a face full of water while searching for the leak, but that would be funny only if HE were writing the column.

They quickly replaced the broken hose and the guy who got sprayed apologized – APOLOGIZED! – as he handed me the bill. He hated to charge for such a small job. And the bill was waaaaay less than $135.

OK. So I was happy as I wrote out the check, but it was still nothing to laugh at.

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