RE: How it ends?

My only weapon is laughter. Jokes so inappropriate that I don't trust myself to tell them to anyone except my better half and my diary. Jokes so nasty that by the time they leave my mouth I'm already disgust by them. Dark humour grips me tightly in its embrace and only awaits a moment of weakness.

I was at the supermarket the other day. I was getting milk. I was blocking a lady from getting milk. "Sorry," I mumbled, getting out of the way. In my mind "I have a disability", sprung to mind as an appropriate response.

Instead, I internalised it.

When I got to the checkout, I told the checkout lady, who I've seen many times before. "She may have thought I was a lunatic had I said that," I concluded the anecdote.

"Perhaps she was a mental health professional?"

"Perhaps you, are a mental health professional?" She smiled.

"No, but my husband is,"

"Oh wonderful," I cut her off, "Does he have one of those jackets with the straps and buckles for me?"

I try to be "proper", but often fail. Failure is just good comedy leaving the body.