while walking to the library and park today, Lucy observed, "why are not funny things funny?"
"What do you mean?" Kevin and I asked.
She replied, "like pooping on flowers."
***
Lucy has been the family comedian since she was six months old and screaming at the dining room table, just because it made us all laugh.
I commented once that she's proof that insult comics are born, and not made. She definitely went through a period of insult comedy that, while scatological, was also hilarious. And frustrating. She just doesn't understand that insult comedy is like an off-color joke: you need to feel out your audience to see how well the latest iteration of so-and-so being flushed down the poopy toilet will go over.
She does have a flair for performance and knows how to give just the right look, voice, or attitude to deliver her routine. What's the most interesting of all is that she knows she's being funny. It's not an accidental pratfall or a funny turn of phrase that fuels her humor. She's about three years away from writing down jokes to deliver at dinnertime.
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