Johnny Jonas! WC 294

Johnny Jonas!

The Comedy Club in LA is known for its stellar acts. My husband and I had front-row seats for this new comic sensation, Johnny Jonas! I was so excited even though the tickets were pricey, as were the drinks. I was nursing my ginger ale while my husband, Allen, worked on his third margarita. We only went out once a month so I felt our budget could handle this splurge. The kids were with my mom so there were no sitter costs.

The opening act was an obese woman who yelled a lot. She was not funny, just embarrassing.

“I hope this Jonas guy is funny, Allen.”

“Oh, he is, honey. He’s hilarious.”

My husband was already slurring his words.

“Oh, so you’ve seen him before.”

“No, but I heard.”

The opening act ended, thank goodness, and the MC sprinted to the microphone.

“And now, what we’ve all been waiting for,” he yelled, “the one, the only. Let’s hear it for Johnny Jonas!”

The crowd roared as this jockey-sized man appeared on stage, grabbed the mic, and started his schtick.

“Am I missing something?” I said after ten minutes of humorless banter.

“Just wait!” Allen was slurring even more.

So while I waited for Johnny Jonas to be funny, I ordered a margarita. Maybe that would help make him funny. After all, my drunken husband was buckled over in fits of laughter.

The margarita didn’t help.

“Everyone is laughing but me,” I said as Johnny Jonas rambled. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have a sense of humor. You never have,” Allen blurted. “Oh, sorry, honey, it’s the margaritas talking.”

“Right.”

The sixty-two-mile Uber ride home to San Clemente cost a King’s ransom—and was not in the least bit funny.