The doctor’s receptionist didn’t know what to do.

There was my wife, sitting in the waiting room with her head in her hands and tears pouring down her face.

And there was I – arguably one of the most sensitive men on the planet – trying hard to ignore her.

The receptionist didn’t say anything but she and the other people in the waiting room kept staring daggers at me.

I could feel their stares but I was the only one who knew it was completely unfair – my wife was simply having one of her laughing fits and it was all I could do to stop myself joining her.

“Don’t be alarmed,” I felt like saying. “She only does this when she’s really, really happy.”

It wasn’t the first time – I remember when she lost the plot while we were in a restaurant.

She was sitting there with tears running down her face and the waitress came over and slammed my entree down in front of me just hard for it to splash into my lap.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir,” she said.

“Pouring this bowl of boiling hot water on it will stop it staining.”

I will admit that it’s usually me saying or doing something really dumb that sets my wife off.

I don’t remember exactly what it was in the restaurant but I do know what happened in the most recent incident.

We’d had to go to see a specialist at Caloundra Hospital and for one reason or another were driving down from Noosa, so we had to leave enough time to find the hospital and then locate the specialist’s rooms.

We managed the first step so well that we arrived with 20 minutes to spare.

“Let’s just sit in the carpark and talk,” said my wife.

“Let’s go for a drive and look at the water,” I replied.

As I was the one behind the wheel, we were soon meandering our way around to Dicky Beach.

Suddenly the mobile rang.

It was wife’s work with an urgent message that a teacher from a Coast school needed to talk to us urgently about our son’s behaviour.

That’s when I saw the first giggle. Not a full-blown laugh but a giggle, which I know is a sign of things to come.

My wife rang the number and left a message pointing out that, yes, our kids were very naughty but they were doing it on their own time these days because none of them actually went to school any more and long ago when they did, it wasn’t even to that school.

All that was said in the most serious voice she could muster while fighting off a fit of the giggles.

Time was ticking by, so we headed back to the hospital via what I thought was a shortcut.

Sadly, we soon found ourselves in the backblocks of an industrial estate with no sign of anything vaguely resembling a hospital – unless you count panelbeaters which, apparently, you don’t.

That’s when I saw her choke back giggle number three.

After much swearing and driving around in circles, I eventually found my way out of the maze but it was almost time for our appointment so I had to do a bit of fancy driving to hit the hospital carpark with two minutes to spare.

We stopped at the front office to get directions but, sadly, I thought she was listening and she stupidly thought I was paying attention so we disappeared into the bowels of the hospital with no idea.

After wasting valuable time going in circles and making a second stop for directions, we were on our way until, right at the last minute and for reasons I simply can’t explain, we zigged instead of zagging and walked straight into a hospital ward.

“Specialists’ rooms?” I inquired hopefully.

“Back that way,” said the nurse.

“Was that maternity?” My wife giggled as we power-walked away.

“Do I look pregnant to you?”

And that is why, just as we barged into the specialist’s waiting room, her giggles exploded into full-blown hysterics, followed by convulsions and tears that lasted a good 10 minutes while people stared daggers at me.

And let me make it absolutely clear – as I have already done with her – that I take absolutely no responsibility for any of it.