By Sandra Allison

What makes you laugh?

Laughter, for me, lives in the unexpected. It’s in those unfiltered, spontaneous moments where something just hits so wrong that it feels so right. Like when someone close to me gets their words tangled in a rush, saying something completely backwards or absurd without even realizing it. That alone can send me into a fit of giggles.

One time, my mother-in-law confidently referred to Chick-fil-A as “Chicka-fil.” Not once. Not as a joke. Like she was introducing a friend she’s known for years. I had to walk away before I lost it. That little gem had me randomly cracking up for weeks.

Then there are those physical comedy moments-like the time a teacher wore one of those blown-up unicorn costumes to school. She tried walking down the hallway like everything was normal, but ended up bouncing off the doorframe, then pinballing off the wall like a human bumper car. I nearly passed out from laughing. I was flat on the floor, gasping for air, seriously considering a change of clothes.

But nothing tops the time my mom and I saw Kevin Hart perform at a comedy club, before he was famous. We were seated in the second row, two cocktails in (thanks to the club’s drink minimum), already a little giddy. Kevin launched into this hilarious bit where he mimicked his two-year old daughter cursing him out. My mom lost it. Like, really lost it. She spit out her drink and straight-up fell out of her chair laughing. Kevin stopped mid-set, looked at her wide-eyed, and asked, “Whoa! You alright there?”

All eyes were suddenly on us, and I could barely function. I was doubled over, laughing so hard I was useless trying to help her off the carpeted floor. Kevin, with perfect comedic timing, raises his hand like he’s calling for backup. “Um, hey… medic over here.” The entire room erupted. That only made my mom and I laugh harder, because let’s be honest-other people laughing? That’s pure comedy fuel.

We finally made it back into our seats to a round of applause from the audience. Kevin paused, stared at us with his finger on his chin, and asked my mom, “You good now?” Then, in a mock announcer voice, he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please remember to fasten your seatbelts at all times and keep all limbs inside the vehicle. Thank you.” It was comedy gold. And every time I need a mood lift, I replay that moment in my mind.

Of course, my favorite laughter always comes from home, from the sound of my children’s uncontrollable giggles. Each of them has their own unique laugh: one of my sons has this bray-like “haw” that sounds like a donkey mid-laugh. My other son cackles like a hyena, and my daughter lets out a soprano “hehehe” that spirals with twirling breaths like a dolphin that’s also low-key choking. When they all laugh together, I’m gone. Full-body laughter. Crying. Wheezing. Probably a puddle of pee.

Then…there’s laughing at myself. Especially when I’m home alone (well, almost alone, my cat is always silently judging), and I stumble upon something random that throws me off. Like yesterday, when I walked into the kitchen to make coffee and spotted a mysterious pile of clothes on the floor. Mind you, I had just done five loads of laundry the day before. The scene reminded me of The Time Traveler’s Wife, where the time traveler vanishes out of nowhere, leaving nothing behind but a pile of his clothes, underwear and all.

That visual alone sent me into full-on Broadway mode. I twirled dramatically toward the fridge, grabbed my creamer with flair, and belted, “Where did you go?! What did I do to deserve this? I am just a mom-not a cuuuustoooo-diiiaaaan!” (And yes, “custodian” was sung in dramatic syllables as I slammed the fridge.) In my mind, a team of strong male ballerinas lifted me onto their shoulders so I could reach my coffee mug from the top shelf. My cat watched the entire performance unimpressed, but I gave myself a standing ovation anyway.

But it’s in those moments, whether it’s a celebrity on the rise, a jumbled word, a ridiculous fall, the pure joy of my kids’ laughter, or laughing at myself, that I’m reminded how beautiful it is to lose it over something silly. Those are the memories that stick. The ones I return to when I need a reset. The ones that remind me: joy doesn’t have to be big, it just has to be real. Because a day without laughter is a day without living. So laugh. Even if you have to laugh at yourself.