My mother laughed when she saw me wearing a backpack. My sisters laughed at me too. My friend Ros called me from Scotland; I told her about the backpack, and she laughed so hard I genuinely thought the phone line might break. There is an 'incongruity' theory of comedy, dating back as far as Aristotle, which suggests that "the greater and more unexpected... the incongruity... the more violent will be one's laughter". Well, if it came to a congruity contest, me in a backpack would rank the same as your average spud-faced bouncer in a dress. Presumably if I actually did wear linen-mix shorts and grow armpit hair, the incongruity would lessen, but that may be too high a price to pay. Violent laughter, I can stomach. Underarm forest-growth I cannot.
