I’m confused. Am I not funny? I seriously thought I was. I mean…I didn’t think I was so funny that I could be a successful stand-up comedian or anything, but I thought I was funny. I indulge in good, sarcastic, witty conversations with my acquaintances. Usually, they laugh when I want them to laugh. I have great timing, don’t I? After this weekend, I honestly don’t know.
You know how growing up, you always thought you were smart because your parents told you you were? I always thought I was smarter than the other kids. Susie Marketschmidt may have known all the answers to our math teacher’s questions, but I would too if I were pathetic enough to study. I’m definitely smarter than her. Stephen Mullis may have gotten highest on his SAT, but SATs don’t really tell you how smart you are. Do they? Well, all he did was go to Mercer and get a masters in Engineering, and all he does now is a ridiculously important job having something to do with private jets. So, yeah. He’s not so….oh! Wait! There was definitely a moment when I realized that I was not smarter than everyone around me. In fact, I specifically remember feeling a little down when I discovered that I wasn’t the prodigy I thought I was, but I was still funny. I had that to hold on to when I was caught in the middle of a political conversation that went way over my head.
Oh, but this weekend, my hilarity was tested in the most accurate of ways. In the Blue Ridge Mountains at Cabin Arapaho, we played a little game called Apples to Apples. So, it’s pretty simple. There is a card with an adjective on it. The dealer reads the adjective and the players each put down a card with something that adjective might describe. It can be literal or sarcastic. Whatever you think will make the dealer laugh is what you should put down. Oh, yes! This is MY game. I’m going to MURDER these women at this game. They are funny and all, but I get all of them. I know exactly where to find each of their funny buttons. They. Don’t. Have. A. Chance.
So, the game begins and the first adjective is presented. I’ve got this. I am literally laughing out loud at the awesomeness of my perfect answer. The dealer reads the cards aloud, “My bathroom, George W. Bush, Rollerblades. I pick…..Rollerblades!” Alright. Didn’t pick me. Just gotta get warmed up. The next one my answer was “Julia Roberts”. The dealer prefers “Rutabaga”. At first, it’s kind of funny that the hilarious one of the group is losing. We all laugh about it. Slowly, though, I begin to notice that each of my friends has won at least 9 more rounds than I have. Finally, I start asking the dealer what her second favorite card is. Not only was my card hardly picked, but it was LAST. I WASN’T EVEN IN SECOND PLACE. I WAS LITERALLY THE LEAST FUNNY PERSON PLAYING THIS GAME. Eighty five percent of the time, the dealer didn’t even understand why I picked the card that I picked. I got so sick of it that I did what all attention seekers must do to return the focus to themselves. I threw a scorpion on Maggie:
I’m kidding! I didn’t really do that-but wasn’t that funny?! WASN’T IT?! I didn’t throw a scorpion on Maggie, but we did see SEVEN of them in our cabin which totally freaked us out. It was literally the only bad part of our amazing trip, except of course finding out that I’m not funny. Back to that:
So, now it’s gotten to the point in the game where your friends aren’t even laughing at you anymore. They are starting to pity me for being so unfunny. They each tell me, “Bec. You’re funny.” with sadness in their eyes. They look at the three options of cards in front of them and try so hard to pick the one they think I put down. My only guess is they started picking the ones they thought made the least amount of sense because I did start winning a couple. Kristen actually looked nervous when it was her turn to go. She wanted to pick my card. She didn’t want me to know the truth. She wanted me to hold on to the one thing I thought I had. At the end of the game, Maggie (with twenty wins) was the victor. She’s always been very honest with me. “Bec, you’re funny. You really are. You might be the funniest person in Macon. You just aren’t the funniest person in this room.” What Maggie had forgotten is that another player, Megan, is also from Macon. I’m not even the funniest person in Macon. I’m certainly not the funniest person in my house. That would be my husband.
The lessons I’ve learned this weekend are crucial to accepting the person I am. I am the person who wakes you up when I want ice cream on the beach:
I am the person who makes you take selfies with me so I don’t look like a weirdo posting photos of just myself:
I am the person who writes nice little notes in the cabin’s guest journal while you wash the dishes, pack our car, and pick up our trash.
I am the person who surrounds myself with funny women.
I’ve decided that the reason I am fortunate enough to have these women in my life is because I make them feel good about themselves. They are less whiny, more organized, smarter, cleaner, nicer, and clearly more funny than I am. I can’t think of another reason why these amazing people would choose me as their friend. They must have days where they go, “Well, that sucked, but at least I’m not Becca.” Well, ladies. I’ll take it. Because you’re all really, really, really, funny.