The Laugh That Makes Me Want to Commit a Misdemeanor

They say everyone has a breaking point. Mine just happens to be the sound of my ex-husband’s laugh. It’s not a normal laugh. It’s not even a bad laugh. It’s a… crime scene of a laugh.

Imagine a deranged sociopath who just got away with something, a circus clown who’s the only one laughing at his own joke, and a Bond villain who’s practicing for his evil monologue. That’s what I endure daily.

Why? Because my ex-husband is also my boss.

Yeah. Take a second. Let that sink in.

Once upon a time, back when love made me stupid, I thought it was charming. Quirky. Endearing, even. Now, it’s the soundtrack to my professional hell.

He doesn’t just laugh at things - he laughs through them. Mid-sentence. Mid-meeting. Mid-breath. It’s the laugh of a man who thinks he’s the funniest person in the room… and unfortunately for me, the room is my workplace.

Acoustically speaking, it’s a perfect storm.

• Volume: Unnecessary. We’re indoors.

• Tone: Somehow both dull and creepy.

• Frequency: Every call. Every conversation. Every sentence. Every. Single. Day.

If you ran it through AI voice analysis, it would come back labeled: “Warning: Unstable. Approach with caution.”

Under normal circumstances, I might manage. But these aren’t normal circumstances. This is perimenopause, where emotions show up uninvited and in the wrong outfits.

So, I’ve developed strategies. Survival tactics, if you will.

• Strategic Coughing: Loud enough to drown him out, delicate enough not to crack the pelvic floor.

• The Deadpan Stare: My resting face now looks like I’m filing a harassment complaint telepathically.

• Desk Relocation Fantasy: In my head, his new office is in Antarctica and he’s laughing into the icy void.

• Visual Substitution: Mentally replacing him with a sock puppet so I don’t start throwing office supplies.

Every time I hear it, I’m reminded that I voluntarily signed up for this man’s permanent proximity - once as a wife, now as an employee. Life really is a tragicomedy.

And the worst part? The laugh always comes at his own jokes. Which means there’s no escape. You can dodge a punchline from a co-worker. But when you’re dealing with someone who thinks everything they say is a punchline… God help you.

Some people have an ex they never speak to. Some have a boss they can’t stand. Some have perimenopause. I have all three… which I’ve combined into one walking, talking, sadistically-laughing nightmare.

So if you see me in the breakroom, staring blankly into the coffee machine, just know I’m not zoning out. I’m running through a highly detailed mental slideshow of peaceful places… all of which are blessedly silent.