in a lightbulb?” I said the first thing I could think of. “One hundred. One to do it and ninety-nine to say ‘I could’ve done that.’ ”
Feeble chuckles.
“She’s not very funny, is she?” A stage whisper to my left.
I took a deep breath. Then another. I thought of the routines that had come before me. I thought of comedy routines in general. They had a formula. I could do this. What had I said that made everyone laugh at Monday’s read through?
“So I’m single. It’s a challenge, but if love were easy, there’d be almost no music.”
Chuckles.
“I thought I’d be divorced by now. At my age, if you’re still single, you realize you missed the first-round draft picks. Suddenly, the guy with the pleat-front pants looks awfully cute carrying a diaper bag. I have to wait for trading season.”
Definite laughter.
“I read about this study that says when women go on dates, they decide if they’re gonna sleep with a guy in the first twelve seconds. Seems wrong to me. How are these women getting drunk so fast?”
I had a death grip on the mike, worried it would slip from my sweaty palms.
“I try to keep my spirits up, though, I do. You never know when you’re going to round a corner and bump into Mr. You Might Do.”
I strung together every one-liner and funny story I’d ever told. When it seemed like forever had passed, but the clock said ten minutes, I bailed.
“Thanks for tolerating me. Really. I’ve had a wonderful evening. It just wasn’t this one.”
I fled to the sanctuary of the side stage. Maybe I was supposed to feel triumph from getting laughs, but I didn’t. I felt seasick. I was a camera actress, not a stand-up. My hands shook. I gripped them around an icy bottle, gulping the water.
“You were fantastic!” Julian bounded behind the curtain, wreathed in grins. He swept me into a hug.
LaMimi responded to being crushed against his concrete chest. That only fanned my ire. I yanked back.
“You think that was funny?”
“Hilarious.” His eyes danced.
I stabbed him with a finger. “That was cruel.”
“You aced it.”
“I nailed my appendectomy too, but I didn’t enjoy it.”
“I thought you were wonderful.” He placated.
“I thought you were an asshole,” I said. I didn’t care about Cora . “I don’t appreciate being set up like that. I’m leaving.”
“Let me drive you home,” he appeased. It made me angrier that I was the only one rattled.
“No. You’ve driven me quite enough.” I turned my back on him and stomped away. I’d have walked ten miles in five-inch Louboutins before riding with Julian Wales. Lucky thing I had my car. I didn’t like him. I didn’t get him. Particularly why he was smiling as I strode off.
Wyatt Goes Shopping
W yatt was in Target and he thought he might be having a nervous breakdown. It was not a feeling he was used to.
“Can I help you?”
The clerk startled him and he clutched the Egg Genie, embarrassed to be considering an item emblazoned with AS SEEN ON TV!
“I’m fine.” He hurried off, now committed to spending $14.99 for something he could do with a pot of water. Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’d been boiling eggs wrong all these years. Wyatt had a pretty simple bachelor’s rule for cooking. He did what his mother had done. But maybe what had worked before wasn’t good enough anymore. Ilana had spun the normally doubt-free Wyatt into crisis.
“You’re going to be judged by a different standard,” said the woman leading the Dad(s) Alone support group. “We’re still a society that doesn’t credit males with strong parenting urges. We’re trapped in a decades-old film reel of the father dragged kicking and screaming to adulthood via the delivery room, where he is a comedy of mishaps before he holds his newborn child and falls in love with the wisdom beyond years in its wee baby eyes. It’s a bunch of crap.” Her anger was genuine, lips quivering under a poor choice of lipstick (he was going
Feeble chuckles.
“She’s not very funny, is she?” A stage whisper to my left.
I took a deep breath. Then another. I thought of the routines that had come before me. I thought of comedy routines in general. They had a formula. I could do this. What had I said that made everyone laugh at Monday’s read through?
“So I’m single. It’s a challenge, but if love were easy, there’d be almost no music.”
Chuckles.
“I thought I’d be divorced by now. At my age, if you’re still single, you realize you missed the first-round draft picks. Suddenly, the guy with the pleat-front pants looks awfully cute carrying a diaper bag. I have to wait for trading season.”
Definite laughter.
“I read about this study that says when women go on dates, they decide if they’re gonna sleep with a guy in the first twelve seconds. Seems wrong to me. How are these women getting drunk so fast?”
I had a death grip on the mike, worried it would slip from my sweaty palms.
“I try to keep my spirits up, though, I do. You never know when you’re going to round a corner and bump into Mr. You Might Do.”
I strung together every one-liner and funny story I’d ever told. When it seemed like forever had passed, but the clock said ten minutes, I bailed.
“Thanks for tolerating me. Really. I’ve had a wonderful evening. It just wasn’t this one.”
I fled to the sanctuary of the side stage. Maybe I was supposed to feel triumph from getting laughs, but I didn’t. I felt seasick. I was a camera actress, not a stand-up. My hands shook. I gripped them around an icy bottle, gulping the water.
“You were fantastic!” Julian bounded behind the curtain, wreathed in grins. He swept me into a hug.
LaMimi responded to being crushed against his concrete chest. That only fanned my ire. I yanked back.
“You think that was funny?”
“Hilarious.” His eyes danced.
I stabbed him with a finger. “That was cruel.”
“You aced it.”
“I nailed my appendectomy too, but I didn’t enjoy it.”
“I thought you were wonderful.” He placated.
“I thought you were an asshole,” I said. I didn’t care about Cora . “I don’t appreciate being set up like that. I’m leaving.”
“Let me drive you home,” he appeased. It made me angrier that I was the only one rattled.
“No. You’ve driven me quite enough.” I turned my back on him and stomped away. I’d have walked ten miles in five-inch Louboutins before riding with Julian Wales. Lucky thing I had my car. I didn’t like him. I didn’t get him. Particularly why he was smiling as I strode off.
Wyatt Goes Shopping
W yatt was in Target and he thought he might be having a nervous breakdown. It was not a feeling he was used to.
“Can I help you?”
The clerk startled him and he clutched the Egg Genie, embarrassed to be considering an item emblazoned with AS SEEN ON TV!
“I’m fine.” He hurried off, now committed to spending $14.99 for something he could do with a pot of water. Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’d been boiling eggs wrong all these years. Wyatt had a pretty simple bachelor’s rule for cooking. He did what his mother had done. But maybe what had worked before wasn’t good enough anymore. Ilana had spun the normally doubt-free Wyatt into crisis.
“You’re going to be judged by a different standard,” said the woman leading the Dad(s) Alone support group. “We’re still a society that doesn’t credit males with strong parenting urges. We’re trapped in a decades-old film reel of the father dragged kicking and screaming to adulthood via the delivery room, where he is a comedy of mishaps before he holds his newborn child and falls in love with the wisdom beyond years in its wee baby eyes. It’s a bunch of crap.” Her anger was genuine, lips quivering under a poor choice of lipstick (he was going
Similar Books
