Never Was A Cornflake Girl
I gravitate towards people with a black wit; I can’t help it. I’m one of those sick individuals who finds humor in human suffering. I guess that’s because for me, humor is the only way I can get through my own suffering; left to deal with serious issues on my own, I usually fall into a downward spiral of depression and despair.
So I was quite happy this weekend to be surrounded by people with cynical comments and scorching sarcasm. The wicked comments rolled easily off their tongues, all in good fun. It was especially entertaining when they would turn on each other, pointing out faults and faux pas, until someone would finally call a truce. The nicest thing about it, though, was the fact that none of these people took THEMSELVES seriously. They could happily make fun of one another, and nobody took offense to it. No pouting. No hurt feelings. No sulking. By the end of the weekend, they were ripping on me, too, until I carefully took out my claws and gave them a cautious swipe back.
There was a moment of silence, that uncomfortable moment when you think, “Maybe it’s only okay for HER to say that,” and then, an eruption of laughter.
I have found my people.