The Fly on his Head

Los Angeles, California 

You knew this was coming, right? I was in a three-way text with my friends Todd and Curt, while watching the Vice-Presidential Debate between Kamala Harris and Mike Pence, when the fly landed on Pence's head. My head craned forward. What was that? It wasn't moving, but it clearly was an insect. I started to laugh. When I tried to text: There's a bug on his head, I started to laugh harder. And then it happened: That full-on laughing until you cannot stop, and you are now crying and gasping as you are laughing so hard. You finally stop, and then it starts again. The fly was still there, and I was in such a seizure of hysteria that I couldn't even key-in the words to send my text. It was a complete and total loss of control; a Mary Tyler Moore and Mr. Peanut moment.

Sometimes, when Lynnette is visiting and we are playing Ticket to Ride late into the early hours of the morning, this will happen. In Ticket to Ride, you have to plot out these routes on a map, and mistakes can be made. You find yourself charting a course to Sault St. Marie when you were supposed to be heading to Duluth. It happens as we get punchy from staying up so late. We are in that let's play one more, and then, in the middle of that game, one of us will say: Wait! Where am I going? and we will start to laugh.

We all know this kind of laughter, and how good it feels. I am not a giddy person who laughs at everything. I think my sense of humor tends to be dry, and my comedy taste runs to wit, rather than silliness. I skew Marx Brothers, definitely not the Three Stooges. A lot of comedy makes me smile, so laughing actually remains special. But the absurdity of that fly on Pence's head tipped my canoe into a depth of hilarity. I COULD NOT STOP.

When I had been married for only a few years, I traveled to Solvang with my parents to attend a Theaterfest production. It was something that we had been doing annually, each summer, but on this weekend, Tom had to work, so I went alone with my parents. At intermission, sipping a hot apple cider outside of the outdoor theater (it gets inexplicably cold there at night in the summer), my parents ran into a friend whom they knew from their church. When she approached us, my mother greeted her, and then turned to introduce me. This is my daughter, she said, Mrs. Healy. I'm sure I looked at my mom as if she had lost her mind, but I greeted and shook hands with their friend, who certainly was confused by the formality of this introduction. After she walked away, I turned to my mom and asked her what the hell was that about? My mom shook her head and said I don't know. I got confused. I just wanted her to know you were married, since you're here with us on the weekend. And all I can say about that is: Yep. That was my mom.

About ten years later, my mom, sister, and I were waiting in line to greet the ship's captain on a Caribbean cruise. My mom nervously asked us how she should tell the First Officer her name, as that was how she would be introduced to the captain. Should I just say I'm Betty? she asked us, or should she say her full name? She turned to me: What are you going to say? I quickly responded: I'm going to say I'm MRS. HEALY! And we both started to laugh. This occasionally happened with my mom and me. We once lost it at The Hollywood Bowl when the first violinist was playing Swanee River on a musical saw. I even think there is a previous post about that. But back to the cruise. We could not stop laughing, and we were nearing the captain and the photographer who would take a photo of each of us with the captain (I think we did this on the first two cruises, then finessed it on all subsequent cruises). We are now both wiping tears and trying to stop, which only made us laugh more. Again, The Death of Mr. Peanut on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. When we finally got to the captain, I was still hiccupping back the laughter, when the captain said to my mother: Are these your daughters? Mom nodded. Very nice, he smiled. I guess we made a change for him in this rote drill he did on every cruise. Besides, we weren't laughing at him. We were laughing near him.

At the fly point in the debate, I was home alone, watching with the fly on Pence's head, the phone in my hand, and heaving with laughter that I could not stop. It may just have been the best time I've had since the pandemic began, and most certainly the only truly humorous moment so far in the campaign. I so thank you Mr. Fly! With love, from Mrs. Healy. Remembering Betty💛.  And thank you for reading my blog.