Have you ever pulled a true Claire type of guffaw?
I’m not talking about a spoiled Claire Standish from The Breakfast Club type of guffaw.
I’m not talking about a sophisticated Clair Huxtable from “The Cosby Show” type of guffaw.
I’m talking about the ultimate, trying-to-be-on-her-best-but-always-messing-up Claire Dunphy from “Modern Family” type of guffaw.
Did you just see my hand go up? Yup. That’s me. I pulled a major Claire Dunphy the other day.
My daughter Ava has piano lessons in our home, every Tuesday, just before suppertime. A couple of days ago, on a Tuesday, I was at the office as I am every Tuesday. I glanced at my watch. Yikes! I would be late getting home if I didn’t shut off my computer and head home asap.
Now, you have to understand something here. Even though my husband Ian is home every Tuesday when the piano teacher (aka Mr. W.) arrives at the house, I like to be home in time for Ava’s piano lessons. Don’t ask me why. That’s just how I am. Okay. I should also mention that I have a soft spot for old men. Not in an icky sort of way but, rather, in a grandfatherly Jimmy Stewart sort of way.
On my commute home, I get stuck in traffic. I start to panic. Will I make it home before Ava’s piano teacher finishes giving Ava her lesson? My mind starts to wander. Mr. W. is such an endearing old man. I imagine him wearing his fedora, walking with his cane in hand; his Mr. Magoo glasses perched ever so precariously on the tip of his nose…
The nice man on the radio snaps me out of my reverie as he mentions the time. Darn! The lesson has started. I have just less than half an hour to make it home before the piano lesson ends. I exit the highway, after what feels like an eternity, and weave my way through neighborhood streets, trying desperately not to speed all the way home. I turn into my subdivision. I glance down at my watch. I have two minutes to get home. Will I make it home before Mr. W. finishes giving Ava her piano lesson?
Stop sign. Drive. Stop sign. Turn left. Drive. Stop sign. Turn right. Drive. Stop sign… I’m almost there. I can see the piano teacher’s white car parked by the curb outside my house.
Good, I think to myself. He’s still here!
As I ever-so-slowly drive by Mr. W.’s parked car, I notice that he is sitting in it, hand on ignition, ready to start the engine and drive away. Imagine (if you will) everything is in slow motion. Mr. W. looks up from the steering wheel and notices me as I pass his parked car. Our eyes meet. I raise my hand to wave. I have every intention of waving and smiling but, instead, I catch myself pulling a Claire Dunphy as I blow him a kiss. A kiss?! What am I doing?! The poor man looks absolutely stunned!
We both turn our gazes back to the road. I pull into my driveway, and Mr. W. pulls away from the curb. Sigh. How do you take back an air kiss? How do you fake an air kiss and turn it into something it isn’t? Ya can’t.
And that, my dear friends, is how you execute a true Claire type of guffaw.
Anyone else have a Claire Dunphy story to share? I’m all ears.
Thanks for stopping by,