I’m almost done with a sewing project (I’ll show you in a day or two), and Jeff came up to say hi. I told him, “I’m so close to being done with this, it’s not even funny.”
And then I thought. WTF is that supposed to mean, anyway? “It’s not even funny.” Doesn’t that expression indicate that if I *weren’t* nearly done with the project, it would (should?) somehow be funny?
Scene: A comedy club from the late 80’s. On stage is a microphone, a barstool with chipped matte black paint, and the omnipresent exposed brick wall.
I walk on stage. Since it’s the 80’s in this fantasy, my hair is in a high, kinky ponytail and my bangs are frizzed and puffy. I’m wearing high-waisted jeans and a neon-colored top.
“Hi everybody,” I say, grasping the microphone with day-glo pink fingernails, “I’m going to tell you a joke.”
(Don’t ask why, in this dream located in a comedy club I must prepare the audience to hear a joke. Just roll with it.)
I lean into the microphone, eyes twinkling with mirth, and say, “I’m not nearly done with my sewing project yet.”
Then I stand back, staring at the audience expectantly (looking more than a bit like an eel).
The reaction: dead. silence.
Why? Because it’s not funny anyway. It’s not not funny, it’s just not funny. Sort of like a grocery list, or this blog post.
I need to stop overthinking things. Right. Off to run errands.