One giant fart…

So I get a text message from Suz yesterday morning at 6am. She lives in Oklahoma and possibly forgot that the left coast wasn’t up yet. Or maybe she just wanted to be my alarm clock. After all, she knew I was at the cabin with T-bomb so maybe she just wanted to find out how hungover we were. Apparently she read my previous post and figured we were fucked up when we wrote it. She was right 😦

In any event, after wishing me a Happy Easter, she tells me her house smells like one giant fart.  I had to think about that for a while. At first, I thought she was complaining about her teenage son. Then I thought maybe she ate too much broccoli. Then I realized she was hard-boiling eggs. Or so I hoped.

Does it sound wrong that I miss coloring Easter eggs and eating jelly beans or that I wish I had a cute spring dress and white Mary Jane’s? Even though I have no kids…?

Should I be mocking myself now or will you do this for me?

Pffft. *Giggle*

Thought for the day: Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine, into your brain, and there is where all the shitty ideas come from… You’re welcome.

In your face

The night before we left for our long Las Vegas weekend, I took my mother-in-law to a doctor appointment. It was toward the end of the day and the waiting room was crowded but we found a couple places to sit so we meandered over.

I hate to say this, but hospital (aka medical office buildings) waiting rooms are the worst. Just the worst. They are filled with lots of old people. And by old, I mean OOOLLLLDDD. I think when you are over 70, it’s fair to call you old.

In private doctor’s waiting rooms, you see a much younger clientele.  Women with smart hairstyles and manicures, the babies quietly playing at the table designed just for their waiting enjoyment.

At the KP MOB though last Wednesday afternoon, it was quite another story. And while I’m used to that, I can never quite get used to their lack of hearing, lack of modesty, and lack of awareness.

A cute as pie little raisin was sitting there in the chair just across from me, with her wiry blue hair, polyester lilac day suit, and oversized myopic lenses. She had almost no expression on her face and I was just starting to guess her age… 85? 90? when she gently started to lift her left buttock and proceeded to let one rip.

Right there, in the waiting room. I couldn’t believe it. I looked at my MIL but she apparently didn’t hear it. Checked the faces of the others in the small room and – wow, not a single person was looking our way or trying to catch my eye to confirm that in fact, I too had heard this woman fart.

I started to laugh – and out loud. It’s not that often that we hear random people letting em rip in front of us (I said random, not our spouses…) and well, it’d been a rather busy day and I still had to get my hair done and get home to pack for the big trip.

I looked at it from this viewpoint: first, she may or may not have known she did it, but at her age, I don’t think she’d give a care. I wouldn’t. I’d be proudly phoofing in public too. Second, it didn’t

smell, which if I’m being honest here, I can admit my surprise. I think if you’re letting one go,

it’s gonna be silent and violent or it’s gonna be like stepping on a duck and its poop. And third, it made me laugh out loud. Which was priceless.

Here’s to you old lady, may your whistle be as cute tomorrow as it was today.