This is a short essay on humor.
Long ago in distant history a lonely, troll-like young man who just returned from his mission fell in love with one of the foxiest women in the El Paso Stake – a Townsend. As he got to know her better, he practiced all his best jokes on her. There wasn’t a lot of laughter or appreciation. He got out his joke book, and used all the sick and wacko jokes which made the troll-like young man famous amongst his friends. No response. In fact, she couldn’t tell a joke from a real story.
He worked really hard on his humor. He practiced timing in front of the mirror. He worked in improv and comedy clubs, and was invited back time and time again to tell his brand of rip-roaring, self-deprecating and sarcastic wit. Nothing on the home front, however.
Kids came along. He practiced his humor on them. They only half got it. The daughters, in particular, inherited the same sort of Germanic hard-headed practicality their mother had. It was like there was a genetic block of some sort or a DNA dam in the stream. He didn’t get it. Nor would he ever get it. But, he’ll keep trying.