Spun a tale?

EVERYONE has the potential to be an excellent story teller. You have pretended before spun a tale, haven't you? Spun a tale? We are always so preoccupied that we seldom look around us to learn. There is so much to learn... from the people at the market; even from the way a tree moves.

Humour is something everyone enjoys. Women are funny. Women are certainly funnier than men. Which is why I always hear more laughter coming from the women more than men. Put women together for more than three minutes and-whether or not they have ever met before-they will have exchanged vital details of their inner lives and started to laugh.

This reminds me of a close friend I used to know a while back. She had this infectious laugh and just watching her laugh will make you laugh. She had a way of looking at the funny side of every issue. This was a bit of a problem, somtimes, especially when I was attempting to engage a serious topic with her.

Us guys aren't like this. Our conversations consist of asking each other questions that can be answered numerically. We can play football together for 22 years and know precisely two things about our comrades: their first names and what kinds of cars they drive. Humorous interaction between men instantly becomes a drag.

Lately, I have started using humour to bridge gaps in conversation. The other day as I waited in line at the local supermarket, I stood behind a woman whom I'd never met but who was, from all appearances, my watch. She was around my age. In my basket were milk, juice, cereal, peaches and wine. Basics. In contrast, hers had filet lamb, baking potatoes, sour cream, fresh parsley-the works. As she started placing these on the belt at the register, I leaned over and said with half a laugh,"Excuse me, but can I go home with you? This looks like one great meal."

Looking me straight in the eye as she counted out some tangerines, she said without missing a beat, "It's for tomorrow night's dinner. If we don't decide to move in together tomorrow night, it's over."

Now, I'd never met her before, but of course I knew exactly what she meant and could supply, in the shorthand of all female existence everywhere, all the necessary information.

"How long has it been?" I asked.

"Five years," she replied, arching an eyebrow for effect as I nodded. "If I'm going to learn to live with another adult it had better be now," she added.

Meanwhile, the woman working the register started ringing up the steak and said, "Honey, sounds like a bad deal to me. You've been on your own and you've liked it because otherwise you would have hooked up with somebody. Trust me. This way you can have a relationship without all the attendant garbage of cohabitation. You have any coupons?" She said this as she expertly scanned the produce under the laser that records the price. She knew what everything cost, including, it seemed, the relationship under discussion. By now we were all double-bagging the groceries and talking at the same time. We were laughing, but the laughter underscored-yet in no way undermined-the gravity of the story.

Even though there is no follow-up memo, even though we do not know each others' names, we know this is real work, the telling of our tales; the turning of anxiety into humour is the equivalent of spinning straw into gold. I take it seriously.