paul·a·ver

My family is quite a bit funnier than I realized.

Graham is a constant and subtle crack up, so it never surprises me when he quietly passes a clever wisecrack my way.

Jenn and Evan, however, as smiley and as ready to laugh as they are, rarely cast so much as a friendly but sarcastic hook.

Then, yesterday, the stars aligned and each sent me to the floor giggling.

In the kitchen, Jenn told Evan, “When I was a kid, we had Lucky Charms and they had marshmallows in them in the shapes of clovers, and I forget what else.”

“Stars, diamonds, and leprechauns,” I filled in.

“I doubt they had leprechauns,” Evan deadpanned.

“Yeah, why?” I frowned.

“Who wants cereal that tastes like chicken?” he asked.

Later in the day, Jenn told me, “I’m going to go pick those things up, and then I have a wax at 2:00.”

I clapped my hands, pumped my fist, and hollered, “Woot!”

She rolled her eyes.

“The grill, not the undercarriage,” she said, shaking her head.

I had this epiphany: A woman who can crack wise, combining automotive metaphor with sexy innuendo, is actually much hotter than one with wanton Brazilian smoothness.