I’m one of those people who is exceptionally disorganised in some parts of my life and then exceptionally organised in others.
And yet, when other people display disorganisation in areas/places/situations when they shouldn’t be or when I wouldn’t be, it frustrates me immensely.
I’m not a perfect human and never pretended to be.
I acknowledge this.
As mentioned here and here, I’ve been a little busy of late!
And so, when – particularly in a work environment – things aren’t as smooth as they coulda/shoulda been, I’ve been reacting more intensely than I would ordinarily.
But I know the cure.
The soothing balm.
The calming treatment.
It’s not a new solution – in fact, it’s one my tribes-folk have developed for centuries into a self-deprecating stereotype for themselves.
After all, if you can’t laugh, all you can do is cry.
The cure all.
Well, that and Ruthy’s chicken soup.
On a particularly overwhelming day a few weeks ago, when I was easily about to break down and give up, curled up in a ball in the corner of a room, just wanting to sleep for a week, it was the lowest of lows that got me.
And I don’t mean low-brow comedy.
I mean toilet humour.
The loveliest Welsh woman in the village, Lady V, cheered me up immeasurably and unintentionally by detailing the reason she’d been disappeared from her work position for an eternity.
Poor thing, it’s never fun struggling with an upset tummy.
Especially not when you’re at work.
But the way she explained her issues was so relate-able and well delivered, that I had no choice but to come out of my funk long enough to laugh!
And that made me think.
About toilet humour.
Humour in general.
But particularly, toilet humour.
Fart and sex jokes are supposedly the staples of male comics.
More so than females.
In this “there’s a difference between male and female comics” world.
A world that probably shouldn’t really exist.
But, no matter who tells the jokes, toilet humour is funny.
Because we all go to the toilet.
This is obvious.
But also, it’s not.
It’s easily forgotten.
The fundamental of comedy – it must come from truth.
Poor Lady V had suffered that night.
But she knew I needed a laugh.
And she knew she had the material for it.
Who hasn’t had the awful experience of the hot sweats in a toilet cubicle?
Who hasn’t felt the need to live and die on the porcelain throne without the external stress of people being able to hear your pants and strains?
Who hasn’t experienced the excruciating pain of your stomach shredding and blending itself from the inside out?
Seriously – who hasn’t?
Just as Eddie Izzard claims that boredom can conquer fear, I claim that laughter can conquer all.
Stressed, depressed or scared?
Think of the funniest poo joke you’ve got.
It’ll be even funnier.
Because you just need to laugh.
You might need to sleep.