No One Gets My Humor

     The other day, Kitty, our impossibly flexible Pilates instructor, called my cell and asked me to inform our Pilates reformer class that she would be a few minutes late.  I made that announcement, but also said that Kitty asked the class to warm up with Kegel exercises. For the uninitiated, Kegel exercises work the pelvic floor and, among other benefits, help with sexual gratification in both men and women. They are, of course, never a part of a Pilates class, but I have to find my fun where I can. 
      Like last summer when I was getting into my car and passed two guys doing work at my house speaking to each other in Polish.  I said, "I know what you're saying about my husband.  It's all true,  but I want you to stop saying it."  I thought that was hysterically funny. They didn't.
     Or when I was visiting my mother-in-law, Brunhilda, to celebrate her 90th birthday and bought her a box of condoms.  At first, she couldn't figure out what they were but when she finally got it, she was so unnerved she told me to throw them down the trash compactor immediately. 
     Or when Thor, my trainer, gave me a card from his trip to Vegas advertising an escort for hire, and I put that card in hubby Edward's wallet.  Then, in front of Edward, I told him I was going into his wallet to look for ones, and I pulled out the card, feigning shock and dismay.  Edward turned a shade of pasty white and looked a little woozy.  What could be more fun?
     I just love myself.