Commander Lol

For as long as I’ve been on the Internet, I’ve avoided using the term “Lol.” Not only does it look absolutely disgusting (like the name of some Star Trek character whose brains are coming out of his ears), but my head is incapable of translating it properly. I don’t see it and immediately think “laugh out loud.” I see it and think of it as a pronounceable word, such as “loll” as in “lollypop” or “lollygagging.” And that just sounds stupid in my head.

So all these years I’ve opted for the much more mature “haha.” Or, if I’m particularly tickled, the “bahaha”or the “hahahahahahahahaha.” But never the “LOL” or the “ROFL” or the really ridiculous “ROFLOL.”

Still with me?

Good.

Because lately, my resolve has weakened. I’ve found myself responding to entire emails with a simple “Lol.” I’ve left Facebook comments that include that horrific letter combination, and I’ve even texted, yes, TEXTED the abominable “Lol.”

I keep telling myself, “Self, you’ve got to get it together. You’re better than this. You’re smarter than this. You don’t want people to think about a Star Trek character whose brains are coming out of his ears when in fact you are just laughing. And you aren’t even really laughing. You’re chuckling. So maybe you could instead type Col...no, scratch that. You don’t want people to always think of Col. Mustard when you laugh. Sigh. See this predicament you’ve gotten us in?”

So two seconds ago, I decided to accept this stupid phase of life and just deal with the fact that I was now a “Lol-er.”

And then it happened. When I was thinking about a response to an email I received, I began whispering to myself (this is a horrible trait I got from my dad. THANKS, DAD). I whispered my imagined reply and then out of nowhere, I included a “Lol.”

Except I didn’t laugh aloud or even chuckle. I just seamlessly inserted my weird, pronounceable version of “Lol” right smack dab in the middle of my sentence. One moment, I was responding intelligently and the next, I was summoning Commander Lol and all of his ear brains. All of this happened while I remained emotionally astute. No smile. No physical indication that I could maybe squeak out an actual laugh. No, “Lol” took care of that for me. Apparently, accepting him into your life means that you no longer need to actually laugh or chuckle at things. You need only to say the name “Lol.”

Stupid, Lol. You’ve replaced my ability to laugh aloud.

And, you make me sound dumb.