diy writing

Slapstick IRL

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 1 Comment

While I don’t love onscreen slapstick, I appreciate when it happens in real life (especially when it happens to me, so I don’t have to subject others to the indelicacy of laughing before I remember to ask if they’re okay). My most recent slapstick moment took place a few weeks ago when a dog I was walking decided to stop and sit down right in front of me for no discernible reason, thus creating the following string of events:

  1. Kelly trips over dog
  2. Whilst tripping, Kelly drops bag of dog poop
  3. Kelly steps on bag of poop
  4. Hilarity ensues

Sadly, no one was around to witness this priceless occurrence. Maybe there’s drone footage somewhere. I truly hope so.

My Lifetime Achievement Award slapstick moment happened many years ago when I was running late to an important meeting. I screeched into a parking space, jumped out of the car, and attempted to dash off while slamming the car door behind me. Unfortunately, my hair flew back and got caught in the door as it slammed shut, thereby causing my whole body to shoot backwards, headfirst. As an added bonus, I’d locked the door from the inside during my hasty exit, so I had to stand at an absurd angle, head stuck to the car, to rummage through my bag for the keys. It probably took five seconds to find them, but it felt like an hour.

As in the dog poop incident, no one was around. I was grateful for this at the time, but when the sting of humiliation wore off, I was bummed no one had seen it. What a missed opportunity. Witnesses could have recalled that memory and laughed about it for the rest of their lives.

Slapstick isn’t all fun and games, however. Sometimes it leads to major life changes. Case in point: due to the aforementioned incident, I’ve chosen this hairdo since 2006 ~

Safety first, people!

Welcome to My Unconscious

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

Alarm goes off this morning. I press snooze.

The next thing I know, I’m standing in the large, industrial kitchen of a luxurious domicile where I’m housesitting. For some reason, the kitchen is full of visitors. The people are unfamiliar, but I know they’re connected to the homeowners somehow. On the counter is an answering machine (apparently I’ve traveled back in time), and I press the play button, then listen to a message from a young man who’s looking after my place while I’m away. His tone is morose as he explains that Jasper, my dog, has died. The folks in the kitchen give me sad, compassionate looks while the message plays. I assume they heard him leave it, so they already know the news.

I don’t have time to linger over Jasper’s passing, however, because I have to get to a show. An acquaintance of mine has embarked on a comedy career and asked me to attend her opening performance. I walk through a door (conveniently located right off the kitchen) to enter an auditorium full of people. The lights have been dimmed, and I work my way through the dark to find a seat. It turns out we’re not there for stand-up comedy. Instead, we watch a sitcom’s pilot episode, and the budding comic I’m there to see plays one of the characters. Sadly, as the show runs, the laugh track provides the only laughter in the room. I wonder what I’m going to tell the woman afterwards, though I imagine the crowd’s silence is feedback enough.

Then I’m in another house that I know is mine, though it’s nothing like anywhere I’ve ever lived. There are no signs of Jasper – no food bowl, leash, etc. I walk around the house, trying to piece together what might have happened to him, when my alarm goes off again.

In the real world, ten minutes have passed. I wake with a deep feeling of melancholy, but it dissolves as I hear Jasper’s claws tick across the floor in the other room. My sweet dog is alive, I have no housesitting responsibilities, and I don’t have to tell whoever that woman was that her show was awful.

Whew.