Perhaps I've mentioned that The Pony prefers to ride in the T-Hoe seat behind me. None of that front-seat business for him. At first, I thought he was simply avoiding conflict with the #1 son over who got to ride beside me. Silly me. I'm not THAT much in demand as a traveling companion. Even when #1 was stuck with me as his hauler, he jammed in his earphones and pretended that he couldn't hear me. Until The Pony and I grew complacent, and let slip a few disparaging remarks concerning the #1 who can't be mocked.
These days, it's mostly just The Pony and me tooling down the back roads. And he still insists on riding behind me. I suppose it's to discourage conversation. I'm sure it's not a subtle comment on my driving style.
This afternoon we were almost home. The Pony had just picked up the mail. I heard a guttural utter, then a loud, long SNIFF. Because The Pony is not a cocaine addict, nor an eight-year-old in the throes of a head cold, I knew something was up.
"Did you just expel some gas?"
"Nooooo."
"Then what's that sniffing all about? It sounds like you farted, and you're trying to get a whiff. Or suck it all in through your nostrils before I notice."
"Nooooo...I'm trying to get in a good breath before I start to smell it. Ooh! Too late!"
"I'm not even breathing through my nose. I'm letting it out." I rolled down my window, and the opposite window in the back seat. Trying to create a cross flow to blow the smell out.
"Hey! It's gone. You can roll up the windows now."
"I don't think so. You might be trying to trick me. Just because it's gone back there doesn't mean that it hasn't climbed into the front seat with me. It's probably riding shotgun right now. Waiting to switch the radio station when I'm preoccupied with keeping this thing wheel-side down. Hey! It's HOT out there. I'm taking my chances." I rolled up the windows to enjoy my 68-degree air conditioning.
But I still didn't breathe through my nose.
Oh, boys and their revel-worthy farts. How soon I've forgotten. Since my "boy" is now gone, I no longer get to enjoy all the things that boys celebrate.
ReplyDeleteRemind me: what else am I missing out on? Take me on a trip down memory lane...
They never grow out of it.
ReplyDeleteWhat is it with boys? They have no qualms about flatulence. As a young girl it would have mortified me. Different species - there is no doubt in my mind. And I have a son. It is like there is something about belching, farting contests that they just love! Thank the Sweet Gummi Mary they don't have periods!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteI would love to bottle up some boy flatulence and send it to you. You know, for old time's sake.
Surely you are missing the Jackson Pollock patterns around the toilet. And the disappearance of the last morsel of some tasty treat you had stashed away for yourself. And the overflowing wastebaskets that defy gravity.
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Kathy,
Ain't THAT the truth!
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knancy,
Ack! It's like they can do it on command. You are OH SO RIGHT about the periods. If boys had them, they would always be trying to out-period each other!
Jackson Pollack still creates his art in the bathroom. After all, my husband is still around...
ReplyDelete