Around 8 am this morning, the world was united by the fact that it missed a great joke of mine.
I won’t repeat the joke here because, without the context, it would only besmirch the memory of its greatness.
But I can say that it was one of those perfect congruences of timing, humor, and social commentary that makes you wonder how much more beauty is still out there.
It was so good that I wish I could get some kind of a certificate, or at least some Karmas, Claps, Likes, Thumbs-ups, anything.
But all I got was laughs from my family, who were lucky enough to occupy the same room as the joke.
The beauty of the joke and the tragedy of it being wasted on them so broke my heart that it stabbed my inflated ego.
Does a joke still exist if it has only been heard by a family and an egomaniac?
There were people walking outside the street, blissfully unaware that a fantastic joke had just been told.
It was like having a superpower for a second without anyone being the wiser.
If only there were a way that I could embody the brilliance of that joke.
If only I could be a joke.