One of the men in writing class belches loudly, repeatedly. He does not say “excuse me” or otherwise acknowledge he has done anything unusual other than an occasional accompanying “oof.”
This reminds me of my husband’s favorite episode of Naked and Afraid where a couple, in their desperation and deep hunger, catches and eats a skunk that has just eaten a rotten lizard. Afterwards, the couple erupts in incessant, painful belches, the man even leaning into a tree to better let them out.
This seems a good a time as any to confess my irrational fear that one day I will be forced to go on Naked and Afraid as a contestant. In childhood, I had a similar discomfort around skydiving, a resigned wariness that one day somebody would confront me with a parachute and waiver form and force me onto a nearby, quietly idling plane. I would not like to skydive or have a terrible case of the lizard belches, and so I keep a professional, compassionate demeanor towards my belching classmate. I do not make eye contact with anyone else in the class during these belching spells.
The class is taught by a clown. Oh, did I not mention that before? Oh funny thing, must have slipped my mind. He doesn’t come dressed as one, sadly, but it was mentioned on the slip jacket of his book that he passed around, plus I already knew because I looked him up online before signing up for the class. It was not a deterrent, though my husband thought maybe it should be.
“I think secretly you want to be a clown,” he said because it was Saturday evening and we’d both had naps and were feeling jaunty.
“I do not want to be a clown,” I said.
“You’re awfully fascinated with them,” he mumbled.
I was about to argue when it all came rushing like an end-of-life flash: The bright red 78 record about a happy little clown named Squee Gee that I played so loud and often my mother yelled up the stairs “ENOUGH!” Or the cat I picked from the shelter for his bright nose and puff of white fur across his chest like a ruffle and silly – some would say clownish – demeanor. My favorite TV show is about a clown, though he is not joyful or intentionally funny. I also wrote a short story once about a man coming out as a clown to his parents on Thanksgiving and this very blog has its own tag for ‘clowns’ which will get attached to this post, perpetuating a problem.
So maybe I do have a thing for clowns, but I do not want to be a clown. I do not want to perform and dance around for people, joyously or menacingly, especially not for children. I do not want to wear grease paint or itchy wigs, though the big shoes seem pretty comfortable. I definitely do not want to work with balloons, which make me nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs or me in a room with a belching classmate.
“Look, I can’t help it that my teacher is a clown,” I said to my husband a little too testily.
“And there we have it,” he said, “a line straight out of an after school special.”

I thought my husband was the only one who watched “Naked and Afraid” 😉
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Ha, nope. I hate when he puts it on in our bedroom because whatever I’m trying to read can’t compete.
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Maybe this will inspire…
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Hell yeah, a singing clownogram. What’s not to like? Thank you.
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I’m fascinated by the clown “epidemic” going on these days. I’ve never understood the irrational fear some people have of them. (Kind of like with spiders.) Clowns are cool. We should all embrace our inner clown.
On the other hand. Naked and Afraid? Nah.
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I agree. I think it’s unfair and sick, these people misusing the clown role for like, sick things. We need more clowns, I often say that to blogger Ross Murray, appreciate that in him.
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Wait, Ross is a clown? I knew there was something extra special about him.
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Please teach me your brave way with spiders. Speaking of, pretty sure they’ve eaten those too on N & A.
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They’re just little itty bitty things you can smoosh with your thumb. Nothing to be afraid of.
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What about when they’re bigger than your hand? Never mind, feeling light headed…
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I’m fortunate enough to live in a place where they aren’t that big. I didn’t realize you lived in Australia. 😉
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The whole clown thing is interesting in that many of the famous ones (in the UK anyway) were notable depressives/alcoholics/addicts. There’s this thing about the public funny face with the sad lonely isolated performer once out of the costume and who is then a nobody on the street as the crowds walk past. I know that is a huge stereotype but that’s how I always seem to view a clown.
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You have something here. That might be the draw in my case, the silly and sad personas, irresistible to some of us. Clowns, they’re just like us!
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Man I’d love to join in on a writing class with you Kristen.
Side note, I will be in Elizabethtown for a poetry workshop on Friday, oct. 28. Interested?
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That sounds so cool…can’t do that date, but thanks for thinking of me. Poetry is something that feels just beyond reach…love reading it though and hope you get a lot out of the workshop.
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Are you more inclined to be a clown or on Naked and Afraid? Thanks for the laughs here.
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How about going on naked and afraid as a clown? That’s probably never been done before.
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I just discovered that I have not been getting notices for your posts. Fixed that!
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Don’t know if you did yourself any favors, but I appreciate it! Always happy to see you here.
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