What I actually logged on to say, but got sidetracked..

Yeah, I'm good like that. I'm so easily distracted most days that the 'ex' used to joke "You're not very absorbent, Karl" (play on words; 'observant' abstracted because pretty much nothing sinks in. Clever, huh :-) )

I am blessed in that I have a rather distinctive internal 'trip switch'. I don't know if it's a defect or a benefit, but I think I'd go quite mad without it. It can be a mite disconcerting for those around me, however.

When life's little stresses get a bit much, my giggle button becomes very sensitive. If I'm under a lot of pressure, the giggles become fully grown belly laughs that completely take me over and render me spastic. It wouldn't be so bad if the joke was appreciated by everyone else, but what tickles my fancy is rarely considered 'appropriate' for public consumption.

Yeah I'm a weird bitch ;-)

I didn't realise how much the stress had piled up on me until last night, when Wayne had a slight accident. We'd been watching DVDs in the dark (Shrek 2, for the 20th time), and he went through into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. In the dark, he stepped squarely on Mako (spotty horror cat), who was sprawled on the mat beside the TV. (Mako is fine, before you panic.. don't know how considering he had 90-odd kilos of muscular male squish onto him, but I guess that's another of the nine lives gone).

All I knew was suddenly Wayne's shrieking and hopping on one foot, and there's a feline explosion tearing through the hallway and out the cat door. (the giggles started then, before I even knew what had happened). When Wayne told me that he'd stepped IN a cat, and the cat had fought back with 27 sets of teeth, claws and elbows, the giggles became guffaws. When he put on the light to show me his shredded foot and leg, I lost it completely and fell apart in helpless laughter. Then he went in search of the mystery cat, and that was all too much for this little brown duck. Ever been consumed by laughter when you've got a sizeable lump in your belly? It's not easy finding breath or breadth to let the laughter take you over.

About 15 minutes later I sobbed back into some semblance of normality, and I have no idea what Tadpole thought about the rollercoaster ride of his mother in hysterics. Neither Wayne nor Mako could see the funny side to it at all, and I guess that's understandable. But damn... I still get the giggles thinking about it. It puts a whole new spin on "I guess you had to be there" ("there" being another planet!)

I told you my humour was inappropriate ;-)

Funerals are particularly bad, especially if I'm a bit distraught. Other people have a good healthy cry, but my chip malfunctions and instead of crying, something tickles my funny bone and I'm away and laughing. Luckily I'm quite good at hiding it, as the following story shows.

My Dad died in '88, after a couple months of hard battle with cancer. That was one hell of a year, in too many ways to count. First up, major fights between Dad and me when he moved down to Chch and started interfering in my relationship with my (then) fiance. Then he fell out with my inlaws, which made life particularly fun for me, because I didn't exactly enjoy a wonderful relationship with them and did NOT need anyone sawing through my tightrope.

Mum and I were back to 'sneaking around' behind his back to see each other, a situation no one felt good about.

Then he was diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer, and all bets were off. What do you do? Apart from the awful moment when I heard the news and immediately thought "Thank GOD it's him not Mum!", everything else was confused. Whatever my feelings for him, there was nothing for it but to help Mum get through yet another dreadful life experience.

So the next few months were hell. If you've ever helped care for a terminal patient you know what I mean, now imagine caring for someone who has spent their entire life being manipulative and emotional. Fun in the sun, eh what?

Add into that, Greg and I were put under a hell of a lot of pressure to stop living in sin and get married. DUMB idea.. we had no business getting married when our three year relationship was so rocky, but what do you do? I'm amazed that it took another seven years to turn to total custard, when it should never have happened in the first place.

So anyway, within weeks of the rushed wedding etc, the end came, and Dad died smack between Mum's birthday and Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, everyone :-(

Just after Christmas, we had the funeral on an uncharacteristically cold and wet day, in a cemetary with a lot of clay soil. (There is a reason I mention the ground conditions; bear with me.)

Mum, of course, was a cot case. My sister wasn't much better. Between the three of us we'd done 90% of the nursing, and we were utterly spent. I wouldn't let myself feel anything because it was clear someone had to stay 'up' (a particularly stupid bit of bravery that I spent the next few months paying for.. don't ever let grief bottle up, it turns more septic than any abcess).

Anyhoo, there we are at the graveside, well at the top of the grave actually. Me smack in the middle, with Mum on my right arm, and Launa on my left. Both of these not insignificant women were leaning rather heavily on the people either side of them, which is entirely understandable. As for me, I stood there getting my shoes firmly planted in the gooey mud. We got through the service, when suddenly, POOF!

Ngaire took Mum in one direction, Chris took Launa in another, and there I was, teetering and swaying at the head of the grave with my shoes still stuck in the mud! Such was the suddenness of their departure that the effect was a bit like being dropped in a dinghy in a choppy sea.

You feel yourself going, and you can't use your feet to steady yourself. No one is there to grab you, and you just know you're about to topple headfirst down into the grave, proving to any who still needed proof that you're the clumsiest person alive.

The scene flashed before me as I tottered in panic, and I saw the whole thing unfold right down to my plummet into the grave, THROUGH the coffin lid, and landing with a crash on top of the old boy. I could just *see* him sitting up wryly, rolling his eyes and saying to the horrified mourners, "That's my daughter..."

A split second before the fall came true (if not the aftermath!), a strap broke on one of the sandals and my foot was freed JUST in time to stop me toppling forward.

Whereupon came one of those "too close for comfort" moments, and all hell broke loose inside me.

I stood there with my hands to my face, sobbing helplessly as tears of laughter coursed through me. Two workmates of mine then approached and wrapped me up in their arms and held me as I sobbed for a good few minutes before getting myself under control.

The more they patted my back in sympathy, the worse I felt, and the funnier it all was. (told you I was weird!)

After my return to work a week later, I sought out one of those people and confessed what had really happened.

"You BITCH" she laughed. "And here we were thinking you were finally crying, when all the time you were laughing your poxy face off! Last bloody time I comfort YOU!"

Damn... but that laugh helped. I know now to take a very large white hanky with me to funerals, because behind the hanky, no one can tell why your shoulders are shaking. I also avoid standing close to coffins, graves or other hazards!