Perishable Commodities

Tara is in the convenience store to buy some canned laughs. There was a news flash this afternoon and the grim reporter said a storm is coming to town and will stay for at least a week. Best be prepared, she thinks out loud, surveying the variety of colorful cans laid like a feast in front of her.

She picks up a neon pink can (Girly Giggles Guaranteed), gets three more of the variety and chucks the contents into the cart. Her hand swipes two electric blue cans (Goofy Guffaws Galore) and drops them to the pile. I need five more of these stuff, she murmurs and grabs five glittery orange cans (Gorgeous Glorious Grins). That should do it. She transfers to the next aisle to pick up some toiletries, candles and mixed nuts before proceeding to the cashier counter.

Tara’s mouth maintains a straight line, slightly pulled down at the edges in a permanent display of displeasure. She impatiently waits for the old stooped lady in front of her to move along. Finally. The cashier punches in Sarah’s grocery items like an automaton and asks “cash or credit?” without looking at her. Tara whips out her credit card in response. She couldn’t help but notice the cashier’s over-the-top bright red lipstick lined way over the outline of where her lips should be. Clown. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” snaps the cashier. “Nothing, hurry up,” she bites back. Sarah chews on her lips in silence and thinks of the orange cans.

Back home, Tara triple locks the door before organizing her groceries. Unpacking her items, she noticed that one of the blue cans was expiring today! Fuck. She slaps herself and fishes out the can opener, her expletives further drowned by angry peals of thunder. Storm’s coming. Laughter uncanned, she sniffed at the blue goo inside and drank it all in one go, clumsily spilling some of the liquid laughter over her drab gray dress. 

The effects started 10 seconds after. Her chest began to heave and her shoulders began to shake.

HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHHAHHA! Ohyes. HAHAHHAHAA! Ahhhh… HAHAHA!

Tara’s knees weaken and she slips slowly to the floor, guffawing, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

But Tara knew the laughter was going bad.

HEHEHEHE! HEHEHHEHE!

Oh no, no no..

HEHE… HE… HEHEHE… HEHE… HU… HU HU HUUU..

Canned laughter promises at least 10 minutes of “uncontrollable belly-aching euphoria”. Tara has only been laughing for two minutes. But her cheeks are sore, shoulders involuntarily shaking with quiet chuckles. Her thin lips are stretched too tight, upturned into a wide tooth-baring smile. But she is no longer laughing. Dammit. 

As she spent the next six hours, miserably lying in the cold floor waiting for the convulsions to stop, the storm came howling into town. BOOHOOOOOOO.