Improv has a tendency to dreg up weird flashes of memory in the heat of a scene. Last night our intrepid leader had us in a circle “Getting Gifts�, an offer acceptance exercise. It goes like this: you turn to the person beside you and without description, offer a mimed object of indeterminate shape/substance. The receiver is able to interpret the gift however they choose (usually from how you are holding your hands) and describe the object. As a twist on this scene, the giver has become your Grandma, the sweetest kindest woman who ever lived and you love to the ends of the earth. The gift she gave you was the most disgusting thing you have ever got. Now go.

Instantly I am reminded of the nylon-y, contrast stitched vest my Grandmother made for me when I was a teen. At least I think it was nylon. I know it was slick and thick. Vinyl? I know it was a shiny green with a white, ¼� stitch over the pockets. I wore it once to school to much ballyhoo. It stayed in my closet until we moved from that house.

The woman beside me (a semi-pro comedian) had glazed over. We made eye contact and shared a moment. “God Awful Grannie Gifts!� she whispered to me and we burst out laughing.

Improv also seems to be seeping into my day to day. Just now, behind me, the HR and Marketing manager (who I am familiar with and are familiar with my sense of humour) were discussing the woman waiting in the boardroom for an interview. HR lady was listing the candidate’s good points and I nearly said “Does she have big boobs?”

It’s like that final scene in Altered States, I swear.