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hey…that stinks!

I have never posted a blog before about bodily functions…about your appearance or attire, yes, but bodily functions, nope.  I checked. 

Now, that all changes.  If you don’t like fart jokes, then see that red “X” in the right corner?  waaayyy up there?  go ‘head, click it…cause this is gonna be a long fart joke.


Well, maybe not…

Folks, I beg of you…quit farting around me or better yet, ON ME!!!!  It’s gross.  By around me I mean, don’t fart when you are within 10″ of my personal space. 

As much as I find this certain aspect of human nature funny…I don’t appreciate walking through the fog that you leave behind.

To prove my point…

Like when the Girl and I are at the grocery store, specifically, when I am on the cereal aisle looking at Pop Tarts and oatmeal…

Yeah, you, little 9 year-old-girl…don’t crop dust me when you walk past.  It’s only you and I on the aisle.  (The Girl went to get creamer and left me on my own!) So, when that napalm hits me and I know it wasn’t ME that did it…don’t cop attitude with me when I turn to stare at you blindly…I know who it was.

And I am staring blindly, because it’s like tear gas and I can’t see to move out of the cloud.

What’s better was when the Girl walks up and says “C’mon!”  I can’t….I can’t move.  I am temporarily paralyzed by the noxious fumes.  Can’t you smell them?!?!?  “Nope, my sniffer isn’t that good.”


OR how about this gem…

I am getting ready to go home.  It’s been a decent day at work, productive, inside while raining…etc…so I am ready to go home.  To see my loved ones…

I get on the elevator with one of the maintenance guys.  He’s always been pleasant, holding the door, asking what floor, etc…but this day, was EXTRA special.

I am heading to P3.  He presses the button for P2.  As the elevator comes to P2, he moves in front of the doors, as they open and he steps off, he lets.one.rip.

He looks back at my horrified face (it wasn’t quiet!) and simply says “Excuse me!” as the doors close.

I arrive with my putrid guest at P3 and alllll I can think is “I have to get through that wall of stink to go home!”

It’s just not fair. 

I am not sure when I became the fart magnet.  Nor am I sure that I wish to maintain said title.  I do giggle about these stories now, as does my buddy at work when I tell these stories.  I do know that  my dad would be in hysterics at my logic and predicament.  Maybe, JUST maybe…he is sending me a sign…a big stinky sign that he’s still with me…

I am trying to find the lesson in there. 

Cause I can’t hold my breath looking for it for too long!!!

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