Sally Breslin: My Life: I'M HAVING TROUBLE MEETING MY LAUGH QUOTA

Not long ago, I read a health article that said the average child laughs approximately 400 times a day, while the average adult laughs only 25. The doctor who wrote the article recommended that adults also should strive to laugh 400 times daily because laughter helps boost the immune system and promotes better health.

I decided it sounded like a fun way to improve my health, so I vowed to start laughing 400 times a day.

I soon learned it was no easy task. For one thing, I wasn’t certain how to tally the laughs. I mean, was I supposed to count each “ha” separately? Or was one laugh considered to start at the first “ha” and end at the last one in a cluster? And did a chuckle count as only half a laugh?

I started out by watching some of my favorite comedy shows on TV. Every time I laughed, I marked it down on a piece of paper. After three hours of watching TV, I eagerly added up my total.

I’d laughed only 22 times.

At that rate, I figured I’d have to watch TV for about another 46 hours to reach my target of 400.

By the end of the day, despite my best efforts, my grand total was only 55 laughs. And even that many made my stomach hurt because I’d had to strain to force out a few of them.

I began to think that those kids who supposedly laughed 400 times a day must have eaten way too much sugar or something.

So I dipped into what I refer to as my “smile file,” which is a journal in which I, over the years, have jotted down things that made me laugh really hard. The purpose of this journal is to give me something smile-inducing to read whenever I’m feeling down.

The first entry I read in the journal made me laugh out loud (which I immediately added to my daily laugh tally). It referred to a TV program - a reality show called, “My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiancé,” which aired several years ago. Basically, the show’s producers hired an actor to portray the world’s most lazy, rude and slovenly guy on earth. They then promised a female contestant a million dollars if she could convince her family that not only had she fallen madly in love with the creep, she also was going to marry him. Then, if her family members actually showed up at her wedding, which, unbeknownst to them, would be completely fake, the money would be hers. I got hooked on the show and watched it faithfully.

Well, I was at the service desk in a department store one night, and for some reason the clerk was taking what seemed like hours to process my refund. I looked impatiently at my watch and without realizing it, said out loud, “Gee, I hope I make it home in time to see ‘My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiancé!’”

The clerk obviously never had heard of the show because he stopped what he was doing, looked up at me, frowned and said, “Well, if your fiancé is that bad, then why on earth did you get engaged to him in the first place?”

I burst out laughing.

My late husband also was a great contributor to my smile file, even though it usually wasn’t intentional on his part.

One night, for example, as he and I were eating dinner, he tried to describe a young cheerleader he had seen at a high-school sporting event.

“It was really embarrassing,” he said. “All of the other cheerleaders in her group were doing the cheers normally, but for some reason, this girl was making some really suggestive moves. She acted more like an exotic dancer than a cheerleader!”

I gave him a puzzled look. “How do you mean?” I asked.

He stood up, and with a very serious expression on his face, launched into his impression of the girl.

“Give me an M - O - V - E!” he shouted. “Move that ball to victory!” His cheer was accompanied by a lot of hip gyrating, chest thrusting, and bottom wiggling. I laughed so hard, I nearly fell off my chair. The problem was, he wasn’t trying to be funny.

I swear, if only I had recorded his performance, I’d be able to rack up my daily quota of laughs in only 10 minutes.

Even my dogs, over the years, have provided contributions to my smile file. I remember one afternoon, when one of my dogs got into my laundry basket, which I’d set on the floor by the washer just as the doorbell rang. The guest turned out to be my new boss, Mr. Jolicoeur.

As Mr. Jolicoeur and I were sitting at the kitchen table and discussing, over coffee, a detailed work assignment he wanted me to do, my dog suddenly came running out to the kitchen…with my pink lacy bra on her head, like a hat, and the straps hanging underneath her chin. She wagged furiously at my guest.

It wasn’t funny to me back then, because I was much too embarrassed to see any humor in it, but now, whenever I picture that crazy dog in her “bra hat,” I have to laugh.

The other day, I spent over an hour reading through my “smile file” and I did a lot of laughing, but afterwards, my laugh total still ended up falling short by about 302 guffaws.

So I guess there is only one way I’m ever going to make my quota of 400 laughs per day and improve my immune system.

I’m going to have to hire a professional tickler.

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