Paul and I have many things in common. Some of those things are things that we both find funny. We like to meow at Pickle and narrate her internal monologue of disgust with humans and eternal terror that we (or various inanimate objects) secretly are trying to kill her. We think it is funny that Paul can unintentionally scare me without doing anything at all, including when I already know he is there*. Weird Al. Zoolander. Crazy irrational retail shoppers.
However there is a lot of discrepancy in our sense of humor. Some things that he finds to be the funniest thing currently in the world, I look at and say, "What? That is gross/stupid/makes no sense". There are many things that I find world shatteringly hilarious that Paul looks at and says, "huh. That's funny". Not even a laugh. He actually gets so little amusement that he has so say aloud that he thought it was funny because his reaction failed to convey anything that could be read as even mild amusement.
There isn't any real pattern to predict what we will or won't agree on. It's especially frustrating to Paul, when he laughs at Dumb and Dumber or Wayne's World, but I can't do anything but seethe with frustration and the gross/stupid/makes no sense/everything. Then I counter with "Man, I love Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. So-crates." And dissolve into snorting giggles. He at least recognizes things that are funny, usually, and makes the obligatory "That was funny" declaration. I lash out at things that are not funny and want to take them apart and destroy them. As a female, I am entitled to be irrational. It is the right of a lady.
So when I find a blog, like this one that makes my face melt from laughter (even though I already read all the posts months ago when it was introduced to me) it is frustrating that I know he probably won't find it as hilarious as I do. Well, that and the fact that it will be WEEKS until he checks his email and actually looks at the link, but that is an entirely different problem.
*No, really. For example: I am standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror examining my face wrinkles in a way that every girl does, and Paul is talking to me and enters the room. We continue talking. He opens the cabinet and noisily takes out a flosser. I eventually turn to leave the bathroom, only to find that there is SOMEONE IN THE ROOM OMFGNESS!! And I screech like he is about to murder me. At least once a week, repeat in various similar forms.