Thursday, October 11, 2007

He who smelt it....

When I was pregnant with my first I lost the ability to control where and when I passed a little wind. I just couldn't sense that sort of impending doom. I'd regain the ability to be discrete shortly after giving birth but every time I began to show in pregnancy I became Mother Snap, Crackle and Pop.

This is how I ended up embarrassing myself at a rather somber poetry reading. At least it wasn't my husband up on the podium. What kind of Freudian slip would that be?

We all know that it's dangerous territory to fart alone in an elevator...or whilst almost alone in a store aisle. It's important to only cut cheese in appropriate places and around the appropriate people. Don't fart at a poetry reading if you can help it.

If you are with Tom Cruise, don't fart on set.

Since I'm an insomniac sometimes I crawl into bed long after my husband has gone to sleep. One night, while doing so, I ripped one that was so loud that the neighbors dog was soon barking. It roused Justin from his quiet sleep just enough for him to mumble, "I'm sorry for snoring so loud!" I burst out laughing. I couldn't let him take the blame.

It makes you wonder if Tom ever toots in bed with Katie...or better yet, it Katie ever toots in bed with Tom. Or if either of them farts on set. Could you imagine Katie crawling in bed and "snoring"?

Oh...fine...it's only easy to imagine ME doing that. Thanks a lot.

I'm blaming the next one on you.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Absent Minded Archives