The one that got away

Comedy is, as Steve Martin observes, not pretty. An internal filter, while it may be an excellent social survival mechanism, is often death to perfectly good humor.

There is one straight line that I have always regretted passing up, a regret so deep that it has been slightly life altering.

Back several years ago, a friend typed a post on a discussion group, a post she called "A Purple Brassiere":

All my life, I have worn white, and beige, with the occasional black
for evening. Last shopping trip, I decided to chuck it all and go
PURPLE. It's bright, easter-egg purple. And I bought bright baby
blue just for fun too, but that doesn't have quite the same effect.

Ladies, let me tell you, it is amazing. No one can see it, of
course, with the type of stuff I wear (being 40 and saggy and all)
but I KNOW IT'S THERE. It has put a swagger in my step and a bounce
in my stride. I highly recommend it. I had me a red one once, but
it just made me feel slutty (not always a bad thing), but this
purple makes me feel marvelously . . . something. Can't find a
precise word. It's wonderful.

My immediate impulse was to write:

"Now you know what it's like to have a dick."


But of course I restrained myself. And I have regretted it often, 'cause that is some premium comedy right there. From that moment, I resolved to say whatever the hell that comes to my mind, consequences be damned. Sometimes I have regretted that too. And sometimes I cannot live up to such a high standard. But it is a noble aspiration.