Without a doubt I get my laughing hysterically at inappropriate times honestly.
My precious Grandmother, Meme, is guilty of this I know for sure. The two of us have gotten our "tickle box" [i love those two words together] turned over IN CHURCH several times. So bad it was a shoulder dance performance for every single church goer sitting behind us. And truth be told - Daddy made a small smirk like involvement in our laughing hysterically at inappropriate times hoo-ray. He didn't take it as far as the shoulder dance level.... He just flashed his cute dimples towards his daughter (that's me) and mother (that's Meme) direction. What do I do? Make this gross awful snort like noise trying to keep the laughing inside my noise maker thingy.
I was with a friend the other day and -we'll just say- we were grocery shopping. No particular reason we busted out laughing in the cashiers face. Okay I'm lying there was a reason but I don't want to say too much....filtering this story is shocking me, BIG TIME! So we laughed, snorted, tried forcing words out of the mouth and failed miserably. The only communication was obnoxious laughing. Why is it that with certain people I do this.
The sister and I tend to have the more extreme cases. I'll just call this lady involved in this story Tin. Well, Tin was obsessing over our outfits and basically begging us to let her purchase the dresses we were wearing right then and there. The laughing rolls in. Tin quickly rolls these two questions and one statement all together "What are yall laughing at? Are yall laughing at my toes? I need a pedicure". The sister is quick to respond [think before you speak Marley, think before you speak] "No, I was laughing at that boy out there washing the window" Do whaaaaaaaa? That boy? Washing the window? There was no boy washing the window. Not.Even.Close. So what does the other monkey do? I laugh harder. Much, much harder.... and then I scurry out the door to leave the sister there helplessly trying to explain herself about the window washing kid.
A good friend and old co-worker, Lauren, was a many times trapped in the tickle box turn-over with me. We would usually play the "whoever ducks behind the counter first" wins game. And if you were left standing you were also left with the customer. Why is it that the norm was for it to be a sweet, slow talkin' old lady with the brightest red lipstick on the block. I love old people. How could this happen? And why? Why in the world it couldn't have happened when a bridezilla came through the door raising you know what about something silly beats the heck outta' me.