The Case of the Missing Sense of Humor

When I was 10, I was a huge Nancy Drew fan.  If anything, those books were probably the only ones I really read.  I remember being curled up by the window, reading for long stretches, unmindful of the hunger pangs creeping in.  These mystery stories always kept me on my toes, ready to dash out my bedroom door if I can no longer stand the suspense.

Now, I feel there’s a mystery I must solve.  The clues to solving it continue to elude me, though.  It’s the case of the missing sense of humor- mine, to be exact!  For some reason, I feel that I’m not as witty as I used to be.  The torch of humor I used to carry now ceases to burn as brightly.  Over time, I have grown to take things a little too seriously, consequently failing to find the funnies in the smallest of things.

Is it motherhood?  I’d like to think not.  Although my priorities have shifted tremendously because of the huge responsibility of raising a kid, I don’t think this is the primary reason I’ve lost my sense of humor.

Probably, it’s because of the people I hang out with these days.  Years ago, I used to work in a company where my co-workers were my closest friends.  Day in, day out, we’d have so much fun, even if it meant simply goofing around at our office desks.  We seemed to all be on the same wavelength, that’s why we’d all get each other’s jokes.

I guess I just have to dig deep inside me.  I should still be able to unearth that foot-stomping, snorting kind of humor.  I miss it…