Apples Falling From the Tree?

There are a lot of times I sit down to write a blog post and freeze up, wondering if I’m going to be able to be funny.

Sometimes the storytelling, it flows very, very easily. Other times, not so much. But tonight my husband reminded me that perhaps the things I think are funny are not really what strike other people as funny so I shouldn’t try so hard.

We were talking about our business, a mini storage. It’s a family-owned and operated place – I was in third grade the year my dad dug and laid the foundations for the buildings using his own backhoe.

I remember us driving around the state, looking for other storage businesses and touring their facilities. I remember the eternal conversations about what to name the business… when it was all said and done my mom had one adamant statement: we would have a “mini” storage, NOT a “self” storage.

A “self” storage, in her opinion, sounded like someone was going to move in and lock themselves inside the units. That is not the kind of business we would have, personal belongings ONLY. No bodies.

This makes complete, perfect sense to me. It’s a fact, not a bit of hilarity intended. Logical word choice.

My husband thinks the reasoning is really, really funny. He accused me of inheriting my bizarre sense of description from my mother.

This may be true considering the woman believes hummingbirds will peck your eyes out. And her father, my grandfather, believed germs were chasing him home from school and refused to use the school toilet facilities. And my mom’s mother, my grandmother, believed coat hangers were deadly devices if used by children.

I won’t even get started on my dad’s side of the family. But they’re pretty darn funny, too.

I don’t know that humor can be inherited. I do know my children are pretty funny, in my completely unbiased opinion.

In fact, just this week Uno told me my feet smelled “like lemon juice… except rotten,” and Dos gently touched my face and told me my surgery went well and I was going to be fine, but next time they were going to use a chain saw to take the baby out.

So, you be the judge… I’m just going to keep rearing my chilin’ and hoping you’ll stop by to read.

The end.