Yesterday, Sunday, I was reminded of that tradition. Are there Sunday funnies anymore? Are there Sunday papers anymore? I didn’t read the funnies, but I did laugh a lot. Here’s why. I was in London, Kentucky, selling Civil War books at a reenactment. My table .....
The first fit of laughter was when I saw a pig jump out of a van parked with its doors open. He was wearing a harness and attached by a leash. He jumped out of the sliding door, went to the back and pulled things out, like clothes and pillows. His woman came out, hands on hips. “Sukey, what are you doing, you naughty pig. You are looking for your popcorn, aren’t you? Just a minute.” She went back inside and got a bag of kettle corn, which they make in that tent. “Here you go,” and she scattered the kettle corn on the ground, threw her clothes back inside and went back to work. Sukey, the most photographed re-enactor of the day, finally climbed back in the van to take a nap. I never saw a pig in a van before; the very idea is funny and makes me laugh.
The second fit of laughter was at the expense of a human re-enactor. A full-figured man, shaped like Humpty Dumpty, stood near me eating his fry bread. He wore well-worn uniform trousers held up by suspenders. He took out his big red handkerchief, and started sneezing. He sneezed so hard his suspenders pulled and took the top half of the trousers with them. The britches split horizontally on the yoke, the top half now halfway up his back and the lower half halfway down…well, you get the picture. His whole artillery group nearly split their pants laughing so hard. Listening to it, I had to laugh, too. Now, that really was funny.
The final good laugh of the afternoon was a family of three boys. The youngest had been pitching a fit earlier because he wanted one of the wooden rifles that a sutler sold. Next time I saw them he had the wooden pop-gun, Kentucky Rifle style. “Pow! Pow!” Now he was wailing again because his gun doesn’t smoke. He wants smoke. Oldest bro said, “Cody, it’s not a real gun, it’s only pretend, it’s not going to smoke.” That did it. Now he’s really pitching a mad fit. Middle bro thinks it’s pretty funny and laughs, egging him on as only a brother can, and the little guy is raging. He smacks his gun against the garbage can. Now big brother is laughing, too. “Well, that fixed it, Cody, now it’s smoking!” Cody checked it out. No smoke and he’s screaming. He whacks the rifle against the power pole and the barrel goes sailing down Sutler Alley at 40 miles an hour. The little guy stands there stunned, mouth open, gun drooping in his hand. His two brothers are collapsing over one another in laughter and I’m totally caught up in it, too. An old-timer, who hadn’t been privy to the whole thing saw the gun break and fly and he put in his two cents: “Boy, that baby’s smoking!” Cody’s eyes got big and a big grin cracked across his little face. “Yeah! It’s smoking” he shouted. “Pow, pow!” He ran around happy as can be with his new pistol.
And finally was the little chihuahua wearing a "mink" coat with a matching tam. But when they put the hat on him he couldn't stand up. Hat off, stand up. Hat on, collapse. They finally put the hat on him and carried him.
Some days are just funny. For writers who spend so much time alone, the advice to write with humor is probably good advice. I take it a little farther. Sell books with humor. I hope you all have a good belly laugh this week.