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.


2 thoughts on “Clowns

  1. I think I’d make a good post-modern clown. I could comment on materialism, waste, and social issues by not using a (tiny) car to travel the short distance to the ring, not wearing overly large or conspicuously decorated clothing, comment on extravagance and bullying by not throwing buckets of glitter or custard at people, and demonstrate the virtue of self-confidence by not humiliating myself to entertain others.

    So, basically me but with a notice saying “why are you watching?” next to me.

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