Not that I need to worry about that . . .
HOWEVER. Here's what I thought yesterday at the gas station whereat I shut my door with the keys in the ignition and the motor still running. (Wow. That sentence was a non-tasty mouthful, wasn't it?)
Anyway. I wasn't worried because the door on my car won't lock in that situation, thus saving idiots like me from themselves.
This was not the case when I was growing up. People locked their keys in the car with the motor running all the time. And if a bunch of high school boys did it in the parking lot during the state championship playoffs, it was good for a lot of laughs. It still is whenever I think about those guys.
It seems to me that most humor grows out of the chasm--the Grand Canyon, if you will-- that exists between the Real and the Ideal. Like that time I got married, for instance, I wanted a perfect little head wreath made of charming baby's breath and sweetheart roses, only the florist got focused on that word "wreath" and instead fixed me up with something you'd hang on your front door during the holidays. When my friend Donna saw me she said, "OMG. You look just like the ghost of Christmas past."
I know. I've told that story before. I'll tell it until I die, because it's funny, right? But it wouldn't have been funny if the florist had made me the perfect thing. See what I mean?
So if everything is perfect in Heaven--or anywhere else--where are the laughs?