Bottle of Belly Laughs

If I could bottle up anything; besides the obvious things like newborn baby smell, mountain air, time, youth, and energy; it would be belly laughs. You know, the spontaneous and out-of-control laughter that consumes your every fiber, squeezes liquid from your eyeballs among other places if you’re not careful, and scares your children.

In the past year, I can think of two such occasions my body was possessed by one of these laughing fits. It can be the most random of triggers, rarely making sense. Eventually, I find myself doing Lamaze breathing trying to regain any control I had. And by the time I do, another wave of laughter ensues, prompted by the contagious domino effect it had on those around me or by simply thinking about what triggered it in the first place. 

It’s a kid’s movie. About a squirrel. But there is a scene in Flora and Ulysses that just sets me off. You’d think I was watching the greatest comedy show of all time. 

Then, on a recent road trip, we exited the highway in pursuit of the Bojangles we saw advertised on the exit sign. We pulled in, parked, went into the restaurant, and perused the menu above the counter. We stood there for several minutes while an employee waited patiently for us to decide on our order. We all remarked in amazement that our favorite fried chicken joint now sells burgers too. 

“That’s cool. But where are the Bo-Berry Biscuits? Do you think they only serve those in the morning and we’ve missed the cutoff? In fact, I’m not seeing much chicken on this menu.”

This conversation went on far longer than it should have. The strange look on the young man’s face should have been a clear indicator. The Hardee’s hat on top of his head; well, that’s as clear as a signal gets. Yet, we had missed it entirely, causing quite the fast-food scene.

After awkwardly apologizing to a confused employee, we walked back out to the truck with serious Twilight Zone vibes going on. That’s when we spotted our intended target a block away. 

I then walked into Bojangles with no mascara on. And I could barely hold it together as I ordered my Bo-Berry Biscuit.

Just imagine if we could bottle up these moments. There’d be no better bottle of medicine around. 

No, sadly, we can’t bottle them. But we can be thankful for them. Thankful for the pure unfiltered joy that comes from a place so deep that it consumes everything in that moment. No matter past pain, present problems, or future fears. Thankful that a workout is no longer needed that day because the ab muscles have received the equivalent of 1,249 crunches. Thankful for the little things. For squirrels, biscuits, road trips, family, and laughter. Thankful to be alive. 

My bottle runneth over.

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