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Some of us will always be the butt of the joke when friends get together, no matter how many years pass by.

We must be twenty-two years into this particular relationship, and the only thing that has changed is the way I’m described.

It used to be some barb because I was so thin; now because my belly is so fat. Or grabbing my insubstantial biceps and laughing aloud: oh, it never gets old.

When you think about it, it’s pretty weird, but years ago we learned to play along, and laugh at ourselves in unison. Every friendship group must have its court jester, typecast into the role.

Living far away, I don’t see these friends very often anymore. It’s just one of those things that goes with the territory as we reminisce about the old days. But sometimes it does grow tiresome.

When they took it too far this time, I just told them bluntly: I won’t come again if this carries on. But that was taken as just more jest. Because why would anyone take this banter seriously? It’s just a bit of fun. Lighthearted humour. Everyone does it.

For those of us on the receiving end, it’s mostly just good training for our ego, reminding us not to get too full of ourselves. Don’t take yourself so seriously.

And so, of course, we don’t. We’re the court jesters in life, always ready with self-deprecating humour, fulfilling our role as never-serious and never to be taken seriously.

We’ll make our companions laugh, at our own expense, absorbing their comedy routines about our character, intellect and form.

And if we don’t like it, we’ll just stay home, and make excuses for not going out. Ah, but more comedy: he’s an anti-social git.