“I did stand-up for the first time in my 40s—and now I’m hooked”

When I was six years old, I did an impression of my Uncle Maurice and my dad cracked up. That was my first memory of being funny. My personality was just developing, and suddenly, making people laugh became a big part of who I wanted to be. It gave me confidence. Being funny is a gift, just like being good at math or visual arts—both of which I stink at. I come from a line of funny people: my mom has a bone-dry sense of humour, and my dad is a master of limericks. My siblings and I spend our get-togethers trying to make each other laugh. Sometimes it’s at the expense of one another—but what family doesn’t make each other cry now and then?

Read more: The ultimate try-anything-once bucket list for 2025

In high school, I loved watching Saturday Night Live, and I worshipped cast members like Molly Shannon, Cheri Oteri, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. But what they had accomplished felt so out of reach. I will never be a comedian, I thought. Not one who gets paid, anyway. So I did what any sensible girl would do: I went into broadcast radio. I worked there for five years and ended up hosting a morning show owned by Rogers. It was a good gig for a while—it wasn’t a stage, but it was a platform to tell jokes and personal anecdotes for an audience. Eventually, though, I realized it wasn’t enough for me. (The company agreed. Are you even Canadian if you haven’t been fired by Rogers?)

When I was in my late 30s, working in film production and consumed with raising young children, my husband bought me a session of improv classes at the Second City. I gave it a shot and found that I loved spur-of-the-moment comedy. My fellow performers and I succeeded together and failed together. It felt a lot safer than stand-up, which terrified me. I couldn’t imagine being onstage alone, watched by a bunch of strangers waiting for me to make them laugh. But that changed this past summer, when a friend asked me to be part of a Comedy Bar show made up of people who had never done stand-up before. I don’t know what compelled me to say yes. Maybe it’s being 46 and at a point in life where I’m less concerned about other people’s opinions—or maybe it’s the gin and tonic I was sipping at the time.

After multiple attempts at bailing on the event, I finally did it: I performed five minutes of original Larissa Primeau stand-up in front of 60 strangers. Ten seconds into my set, I heard the first laugh. More followed. I have never felt so high. I didn’t want that feeling to end, so a month later, I signed up for Comedy Bar’s core stand-up class. I intend to continue performing. Stand-up isn’t about being the funniest person in the room; it’s about storytelling and delivery. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? And even if the worst does happen, that could be funny too.