Gregg patted my foot when getting in bed tonight.
“Yep, I’m still here,” I said.
“Well where else would you go?”he asked.
“I don’t know, the circus? I could be a clown. The sad clown.”
“Nobody likes clowns,” he said.
“Well I didn’t say I’d be a good clown.”
“Is that why their sad clowns?” he asked. “Because nobody likes them?”
“Maybe,” I said.
Or maybe they just wear their sadness on their sleeve too make others laugh so their sadness could be good for something. I didn’t say that last bit out loud. I’m not sure why clowns are sad, I just know my introvert self would not be a good one.