It’s a new year once again and I’ve lost my funny bone. It was gone around the time I let Li’l Nagger in late one night in the second week of November.

I discovered my loss just yesterday when people around me exchanged remarks and waited for my reaction. Somebody had to clue me in that what were being said were supposed to be jokes.

But I wasn’t tickled pink or green or blueish green. I said “Oh” and left it at that.

Yes, I lost my funny bone. Because when others around me are bursting their carotid arteries from laughing too hard, I hover in the background and tell them to clear up the mess.

These days, I’ve discovered I have a signature facial expression. Very akin to a ramp model’s pout but I call mine I-ate-a-pickled-pineapple-slice pucker.

Heh. I am shriveled and wrinkled. My mentality is that of an eighty-year-old virgin (not that I know a lot of eighty-year-old virgins).

Still, my heart is pure but my intentions are muddy. I do not recognize the woman I see in the mirror.

But I am hoping that this is temporary. That I shall still find my dear old funny bone among the rubbish in my garden’s compost pit and that I could somehow reattach it without any major surgery required.

We shall see.

We shall see.

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