When I started writing this column three years ago, I only had one guiding principle in mind: puns. I wasn’t interested in writing opinion pieces about legitimate issues or advice columns for bewildered first-years. If I told people I wrote a column, they always asked, “What do you write about?”
The answer is nothing, really. Whatever comes to mind or whatever’s on my mind. There’s never been any rhyme or reason to my pontifications, except that I really think of them as “pun-tifications.” So, when it came time to brainstorm for my final column, the swan song of my journalistic career, I immediately knew I would write about puns.
It took crafting my resume this year for me to realize this column has actually been the longest-running — or longest-punning, we’ll say — thing I’ve done at this University. Puns have been the foundation of my college career, the thing to which I’ve dedicated four years of myself.
This may make some of you laugh, scoff or, if you’re my parents, shake your heads in disbelief. Puns? For crying out loud EP, you’ve dedicated the four most transformative — better yet, “transfourmative” — years of your life to little quips people don’t understand half of the time? Oh my word, play hard you did!
But, give me a chance to defend my lifestyle. I promise it’ll be a pun of fun.
Even beyond this column, I’ve made it a point to insert puns or equally eye-roll-worthy jokes into every Facebook post I submit and every email I send. My virtual wall is painted with pun battles, where a theme, such as “Disney princesses,” guides the competition. With so many Rapunzels in one place, it’s a Sleeping Beauty. Instead of relying on bright pink fonts and sparkly emoticons, puns color my emails and add dimension to otherwise standard replies.
I can’t imagine a life without puns — they make me an individual. I’m defined by my punning as others are defined by their kindness or intelligence. And I think this is what I love most about myself.
I rely on puns for everything, from first impressions to job interview connections — then, the puns are always intended. My boss from the summer — after experiencing my affinity firsthand — actually got me in touch with a fellow punster, who writes pun greeting cards. At a coffee chat I had with a recruiter, I mentioned the title of this column and she immediately said she’d send me an article about garden puns. It tomato-tally made my day, establishing a strong connection and planting the seed for a future job offer.
If I ever receive a superlative, it’s predictably, “Most Likely to Pun.” After my third time receiving this award, I was a bit frustrated with the unoriginality. Is that all I am? But now, I respond with confidence and pride, “Yes!” Give me any award for “punniest” and I’ll happily accept.
The world’s a better place with puns. They make advertisements catchier, boring speeches more engaging and politicians more human. People always feel the need to apologize for puns, especially the “bad” ones, and dismiss them as unintended. But we’re always the first to take credit for any other joke — so why don’t we put puns into this category? They’re smart, concise, clever and quirky. Puns are everything we want to be. If I could be “Most Likely to Pun,” for the rest of my life, it’d be a punderful life indeed.
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