Dear Uncontrollable Laughter,
Look, I love you and all—well, not really, but you’re leagues better than Hysterical Sobbing and Mental Breakdown—but I really need to have a talk with you about your timing. You have horrible timing. The worst. Absolutely horrendous.
That call last week. What was that? Why on earth did you think “I’ll miss your aunt” was a good time to step in? Especially when it was preceded by “the funeral will be next week”? You had Dad looking at me like he thought I was a psychopath. Rambling Apologies had to come in to clean up your mess, and you know she never does a good job. The funeral is over and I’m still walking on eggshells around Dad. Also, I feel like a horrible person who doesn’t love my aunt. Didn’t. Didn’t love my aunt. Damn it—no, back away. I can feel you creeping up on me. I know this is uncomfortable but you can’t come to me like that when someone dies! You should thank your lucky stars I locked you in the basement during the funeral, because we’d be having another funeral very soon otherwise.
This isn’t an isolated incident either, mind you. That time you jumped me while Ms Sanders was lecturing us? Not cool, man. Yes, I admit the way she stared in disbelief was kind of funny in a subtle, stupid way, but that does not mean you should up the ante. My ears are still ringing from her shrieks. With your track record and my tendency to accidentally leave my homework at home, we’re going to be hated by half the staff by the time I graduate. And don’t even get me started on all the times you pounced during the national anthem. It’s really not that funny. There is legitimately no reason you have to be there. When my friends start discussing the newest genocide they learned about in history class? Also not the time. So I’m begging you: stay away when you don’t have to be there and stop ruining my reputation—I’m doing enough damage on my own as it is.
Of course, I don’t mean to shut you out completely. I do love you. Sometimes. I especially love you when you’re not bombarding me at inopportune moments. I will always appreciate your presence at sleepovers and gossip sessions, when I can let you run free till I’m giddy and gasping for breath. And that thing you do when I’m waxing? Fantastic work. I much prefer you to Pained Screaming—he leaves my throat feeling quite sore and he ticks off my mother. I’d take looking and sounding like the Joker over that any day.
So all I wanted to tell you was: please be mindful of your timing. Note the context. Read the room. Don’t make me out to be a heartless would-be serial killer. It’s that simple. Do that, and I’ll shower you with love and appreciation for the rest of our days together.
With Love,
Me
P.S. Come at me during church sermons again, and I will gut you like a fish.