Save the Laughter for After

I try to be an adult, to have poise and maintain composure and all that. It's just that sometimes, my inner twelve-year-old makes herself known - and recently, she made herself known so loudly and clearly that Adult Me wanted to shrivel into nothingness right there on the spot.

As you guys know, we moved to Ohio from Iowa a year ago, and we've been renting our house here while our house in Iowa sold. But earlier this month, we finally bought the place we've been living in: it's officially ours.

When you buy a house, the last step is closing, where you sign a bunch of paperwork. It's super-official. For our closing, we went to the title company, which was all poshly decorated and fancy: rich, ornate woodwork everywhere, plush carpeting, a polished table where we conducted our Very Important Business. My husband and I dressed nicely. Our Realtor met us there, along with the title company lady (title officer? I'm sure she has an actual designation, I just don't know what it is). They were dressed nicely too. We were all on our best, most grownup behavior.

Basically me, trying to be on my best, most grownup behavior.

It started out well. I sat in my chair with my hands folded primly in my lap, raising them only to scrawl my signature on document after document after document. Seriously: SO MANY PAPERS. And that's precisely why things went downhill.

The title lady had all the paperwork in front of her, a huge stack that apparently even she was impressed by. Because as she scooted the stack toward my husband, she said to him ... and I quote:

"You have a large package."

Y'all.

Y'ALL.

It was a totally innocent, totally non-pervy comment. But that's when twelve-year-old me showed up. And she came cackling out of my mouth in the form of a loud snort/guffaw/totally inappropriately-timed laugh. Right in the middle of our Very Important Business.

I was mortified. The title lady blushed and let out a nervous little titter. My husband gave me some serious "I-can't-even-believe-you-right-now" side eye. Our Realtor sat, stone-faced and stoic, like somebody hadn't just TOLD MY HUSBAND HE HAS A LARGE PACKAGE. I knew I had to rein my ridiculousness in, and fast.

Only ... I couldn't.

You know that feeling when you're trying your absolute hardest not to laugh? That feeling when you know you have to hold it in, but it comes bubbling to the surface - totally involuntarily - anyway? Yeah. It was like that. I clenched my hands between my knees. I bit my tongue. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. I looked down at my lap, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at the title lady handling my husband's large package. I TRIED SO HARD. But my shoulders were convulsing with barely-contained hilarity. My eyes were welling up with the kind of tears that only hysterical laughter can produce.

As the meeting proceeded around me, I managed to regain my composure. But it took me a good five minutes, much to my embarrassment.

We wrapped things up and were officially homeowners again. We shook hands and thanked everyone politely and left the office. And as soon as we got into the car, my husband said with his voice what he had been saying with his eyes: "I cannot believe you." But now, he was laughing too.

I guess he's better at waiting until the right time.