I’m going to get thrown out of my diction class if I don’t stop laughing. What the (bleep) is wrong with me? I can’t quit having insanely funny images and thoughts when I’m supposed to be serious. Nobody else in my group has this problem. Just me. I’m beginning to think maybe I’m horribly maladjusted. (No response required, here.) But then, if I am, I suppose acting class is the right place for me. 🙂
During one exercise, our class was told to sit up straight with our legs underneath our buttocks and, beginning at our collarbones, walk our fingers along our sternums.
My instructor, who’s male, demonstrates. His fingers drum along the center of his chest, moving gradually down to where his ribs end. I follow along, feeling the first few contact points. But then I lose touch, entirely. Something is in the way. What the heck is THAT? Oh yal, BOOBS!
So while all the guys in the class are fingertip dancing with their sternums, I’m over here trying to pry through the mass of flesh underneath my shelf bra–doing my best to separate what has been compressed into a doughy blob. Unlike Playtex brassieres, sports bras purchased at Target apparently don’t “lift and separate. “
I can’t help it. I’m snickering. Now giggling. Mr. Sternum Finder stops, looks at me, and says, “Did you hit your tickle button?”
I’m DYING to say, “No. I hit my UNIBOOB!” But I refrain. And you know, the mere thought just makes me laugh harder.
Is there a cure for this?
My monologue for today’s class had been assigned: an excerpt from The Jungle Book. I was the ONLY one in the class who had bothered to look up the correct pronunciation of “Hathi” (It’s a diction class, after all.), which I learned is the Indian word for “elephant” and is pronounced “Huttee.” Did I get any points for this? No-o-o. In fact, the instructor didn’t even acknowledge I’d said the word correctly.
Some folks really hold it against you when they think you’ve been laughing at THEM.