BBC ran a mocking, dry, sitcom in the late 70s titled “Butterflies”. The protagonist was a middle-aged woman, Ria. I watched reruns of the program during 1986 through the doldrums in my life. The program allowed the viewer to hear Ria’s irreverent thoughts. They were wonderful, sarcastically wicked, little snippets exactly like the text crawls running through my own 20-something head.
Irreverent humor seems to have been suppressed in my life. I know there are people out there who would dispute this, who would tell you that I say what other people only dare to think. Those people are sheltered by the censor manipulating the filter between my mind and mouth. It could be, oh so much, worse.
Almost every day traipsing from one errand to the next, completing mindless chores, I find myself laughing out loud, in public, at irreverent private observations. Irreverence is not reserved exclusively for others, the self is frequently the target of depracating wit.
My counterpart at another business called me on Monday, we worked back and forth on a contract that was a complete waste of our time. He asked me how it was going, I told him- “This place is driving me crazy, if I don’t get outa here soon I may just leave on the end of a bullet!” He responded, “Stay where you are, I’m going to hang the phone up gently and call 911, let the nice people in when they get there and they’ll take you to a calm place, a small room where you can relax.” We killed ourselves laughing and got back to work.