She Loves to Make People Laugh

Sometimes it is kind of slapstick, physical humor, sometimes silly faces, and sometimes just unpredictable lines that throw us off the serious and predictable path of sentence structure or behavior.  But please don’t underestimate her, because when she concentrates on her work, she can’t be interrupted until the work is finished and done well, but sometimes in the intensity of the work, she will break the intensity a little by saying to her highly stressed colleagues:

“Time for a smoke break.  I’m going out for a smoke.” Everyone stares at her with mouths open and she displays a serious face as she walks out of the conference room somewhere and her colleagues look at each other bewildered and say, I didn’t know she smoked!  She is not that type of girl!

Then five minutes later after she guzzles a glass of water and uses the restroom, she comes back with one of those candy cigarettes she had in her purse, left over from the kids at Halloween, fits it expertly in the corner of her mouth, and struts in like Betty Davis, stares at everyone and then proceeds to eat the cigarette. The crowd laughs, and she breaks a brief smile, and says “Time to get back to work, no more dilly dally!”

She takes advantage of the fact that she can stretch her perfect non-wrinkled Barbie face into whatever contortion fits the occasion for a brief dose of levity.  She doesn’t like to go to bars much anymore, just not her thing, unless the girls want to take her out for her birthday or something. So if she’s at a bar with her girls and a guy gathers the courage to come up to her to talk and get lucky with her number, she lets him talk and banters with him a bit, smiles that lethal but bright smile, and then when he pulls out his pen and says “I would like to —she uses her perfect Clint Eastwood female Dirty Harry impression, with a perfect squint and curled upper lip: “Go ahead, make my day!”  Some men freeze and forget what their goal was, but the one she enjoys will say, “You gonna pull them pistols young lady or just whistle Dixie?”  But of course, he can’t squint like she can.  That guy gets her number.

Or, if she’s at a dance club with her friends and they tell her, it’s really quiet in here, she whispers to the bar tender: Time for “CLMB”.   He says, “Pardon?” “CLMB”.  So, she turns her swivel bar stool at a little angle towards the crowd, crosses her leg so more easily viewed, and partially drops her heel so it is half-way hanging off her foot, displaying some calf muscle contraction that is triggered by the music,  dangling in the breeze like a shiny wiggly worm for a hungry fish.  Within about ten minutes, she has suddenly danced with several men and returned to her friends, refreshed and alive, but she wasn’t looking for numbers —no, she just wanted a little fun with the music.

They asked her, “So what is “CLMB? Please tell us.”

“Crossed-leg man bait.  Works every time when things are slow.”

Then, when they leave the place, she whispers to the girls a little fun plan.  They form a parallel line on each side of the restaurant exit and as the happy customers leave, they all great them and say, “Thank you for coming, buh-bye.  buh bye, come again,” waving and smiling in such a faux, but charming way that the customers minds were handcuffed to regurgitate, “thank you ladies and yes, we’ll be back.”  But the wives didn’t smile much.  Instead, they said, “Harold, you didn’t smile all night until the end when you saw that super-model conga line!  I don’t think your old ticker can take this place.”

The girls then ran to their cars with uncontrollable laughter before the manager caught them, and went home filled with joy and enjoyed a safe drive home.

© 2026 SRCarson Publications