by Allison Symes
When going to work is an odd thing to do, you know you're in trouble or shortly will be. And when you are the chief tester of every imaginable practical joke going, trust me, the gags soon wear thin.
There really are only so many times you can sit on a whoopee cushion and find it funny. Children's humour may not change but I have.
I stopped telling people what I do a long time ago. I soon tired of forcing a Cheshire Cat grin every time people said 'oh that must be fun' or other similiar banalities. Trust me, there is no limit to crap like that.
But the bosses pay well, I still have a mortgage, and I tell people if I revealed anything, I would have to kill them. They laugh, subject gets changed, and I have a nice time at the pub before going home and watching a documentary on the curse of umbrella making or something like that.
What I don't watch is anything they call funny. Not now. Not anymore. That explains the salary. There should be a price for losing your sense of humour.
I sometimes wonder if I could kill someone with a deflated balloon. And yes I could... so if you know what's good for you, don't ask. They say once someone has killed, they get a taste for it. Best I don't start then.