Farts are Funny. I Don’t Care WHAT You Say.
July 30, 2006
Filed under:Chortling
Wife has accused me of letting them “just fall out” wherever and whenever. My mother-in-law, CrazyCatLady, has quoted the Old Irish, “Where �ere you be, let yuir wind go free.
I love Ye Olde Irish shite, and I also love being unrestricted with my bodily functions. It’s a freedom unlike any other, and I relish teaching it to my children.
It’s not just around the house, as any man should feel free to puff his PJs in his own castle, it’s anywhere really (with the possible exception of the shower as somehow they get freakishly intensified in hot water).
I have many too. So many, of so many different varieties, that I must sample each and every one just for reference. It’s only a cupcake if you do it to someone else, if you grab a little handful and bring it cautiously up to your face, you can get a reasonable sample without causing any olfactory damage.
Then, if it’s quality, you can grab more handfuls and offer them up to your wife’s nose for her appreciation. She’s a real fan of this technique but only if I present them with descriptions such as “Oooo, fruity,” “Hey Fun!” “This one is Spicy!”
If they’re foul, I mean really foul, you can grab them by the same handfuls and them throw away from you over your shoulder, out the car window, or even shove them under the couch to protect the innocent.
I’ve got the grab-and-throw down to a science, but one of the main problems with being so familiar with my own stench is that I fail to notice when one of these not-far-from-being-sentient-beings escapes from my ass with it’s sights set on nothing short of Global Domination.
I keep waiting for it to *gasp* offend or embarrass Wife, but the woman is simply unflappable. Seriously, my farts can’t flap her.
Case in point, we’re in the middle of the Hair Product aisle and I’d only just gotten finished giggling at the our daughter’s loud announcement of her gaseous emission…
Seriously, I hear a smallish b-r-r-r-p, and my little girl proudly gleams at me and says, “I fahted… DADDY, I fahted.” Sensing that Wife was once again completely lacking in embarrassment, I smiled and calmly asked Pie-Pie, “Great, did you sample it?” and began making hand motions to my face.
She grins and shakes her head while Wife smiles broadly and shakes hers as well.
… so Wife is looking at hair colouring again, I’m a bit bored and befuddled and I’m standing behind her making faces that a guy makes in that situation and one of them falls out.
One of the evil ones.
I stand there for a second, thinking about the possible wrongness that just left my butt, and decide to get rid of all the evidence right there with a few simple pats. Patting proved effective for the fleeing escapee, but unfortunately it also meant that this foul creature could all the more easily infiltrate my nostrils.
When you’ve perpetrated this kind of infraction on humanity, it’s hard not to recoil in raw terror and bellow at all potential victims nearby to “Run! For the love of all that’s holy, RUN!”
I held it together though, simply made a face for a second, and held my breath for a bit, hoping it would clear. It didn’t.
It got worse.
I’m not sure how, but it gathered enforcements and attacked in full force, punishing all things sensory belonging to it’s creator in a clear display of impudent stinkyness.
I walked over to where Wife was now staring at the many varieties of toothpaste, her desire to redefine her lock colouring evidently postponed for the need to redefine our enamelly colouring. I grabbed a box off the shelf at absolute random, threw it hastily at the cart, and whispered through clenched teeth, “We gotta go, Now.”
She made a slightly inquisitive noise, huffed through her nose, and followed quickly after me with an “ohhhhh, honey.” I thought I might’ve finally gotten to her, but when she got to the cart and began examining the “Extra Strength Citrus Cinnamon and Licorice Especially for Dentures” toothpaste that I’d thrown in, she was giggling madly. Still making a face and giving me a look of mild disdain, but giggling.
We’d made it a few aisles over when she told me that there was a woman who saw the whole thing and was howling with laughter. I feigned innocence and claimed that there couldn’t have been anyone that saw anything because there wasn’t really anything to see (although it was tangible enough that I wouldn’t have been surprised).
To prove her point, Wife chucklingly pointed out a young couple with their heads quietly together at the end of the offending aisle and began to really guffaw. I did my best not to grin sheepishly as I noticed the man’s crinkled nose and his wife gesturing in my direction.
He’d apparently just cruised the site of the famous “Olfactory Murders” and was obviously Victim Number 3. My heart, as well as my nose, went out to him.
His wife, just like mine, was hooting with laughter.
Tell others how much I fkn ROCK:
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