Is it possible to die laughing?

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After hanging a seasonly appropriate wreath on the Barn Mahal’s door, I wandered inside.

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Which is where I found my husband knee deep in nostalgia and flipping through his high school yearbook.

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First we smiled at the graduation photo.

The hair. The prominent ears. The innocence of youth.

But then…

Then he showed me something I will never be able to erase from my memory.

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My husband… was a … gymnast?

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And not just any gymnast. No.

He was a covered from head to toe in silver paint gymnast.

What. The….

What????

He can’t remember exactly why they struck that pose…. But that’s him, crouching on the lower right.

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And I’m afraid the image is burned onto my retinas and into my frontal lobe.

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19 thoughts on “Is it possible to die laughing?”

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