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Sunday, July 13, 2008

In which I sacrifice my husband's dignity for a cheap laugh, immediately feel guilty and subsequently sacrifice my own dignity for the same purpose.

Let me start at the beginning. Actually, let me start with a warning: This post is gross and, as my mother would say "uncouth." My sons would call it "inappropriate." So.

In our family, we call a fart a fart. I don't see any need to come up with a cute euphemism for the word because I can't think of a single situation when I would need a polite way to say "fart." It really shouldn't be mentioned in polite company at all, so who cares what the kids call it? One of my friends was taught to call it a "windy." The upside of this is that she never craves fries, cheeseburgers or even Frosties. The downside is that she gags every time she passes by one of the ubiquitous fast food joints by the same name. She and her husband use the word "gas" as a verb, as in,

"Which one of you kids gassed in the car? I knew we shouldn't have let y'all eat those Frosties!"

I can't support the transformation of a perfectly good noun into a verb, so this one makes me shudder. Neither of those are as bad as what my mother's mother someone who shall remain nameless called sh*t. Toto. That's right, Dorothy's dog. She had no way of knowing her children would be incapable of enjoying one of the most popular movies of all time. Therein lies the danger of choosing your own word for something gross. You never know when someone else will make it a household name. I'm pretty sure a secret word for private functions doesn't fool anyone, either.

"Mom, can we please leave? I'm about to Toto in my pants."

But I digress.

The other day, Baby J and I were in my bedroom. A loud noise erupted exploded happened.

"Oh!" exclaimed Baby J, little eyebrows shooting towards the ceiling, "Wuzzat? Dat scare me!"

I was honest*.

"That was Daddy's fart."

Baby J is at that age where everything belongs to him. His favorite babysitter? "MY Jo-nanne!" Your cell phone? "MY phone!" Headed outside for a breath of fresh air? "MY outside!" Predictably, upon hearing someone was in possession of something, he responded,


Sure, kid. It's all yours. Own that fart, baby! I worry about him. Is his self esteem so low, is he so disenfranchised, that he's compelled to claim even the lowliest of farts? And how long will it be before he's old enough to be embarrassed by this story? Am I ruining his life? Already?

Speaking of being inappropriate and ruining my children's lives, I was on the radio the other day. Marti Bluestein, local attorney, model, mother and radio personality, asked me to join her for her regular segment on Frank Knapp's show, U Need 2 Know. I sound like a man, but otherwise I think I did okay. Frank and Marti are brilliant, because they made me feel really relaxed. After much swearing, I think I figured out how to post a link to the segment. Let me know if it works!

Download Frank Knapp and Marti Bluestein - Chick Chat

Namasté, y'all!

* I was not honest. It was me. I farted. Yup. Aren't blogs all about normalizing the collective human experience? You're welcome!


Anonymous said...

I totaly feel your pain!! I have 3 girls and we call the "V" a "Susie". All was good and well until they met Aunt SUE SUE!! YIKES! Everytime they see her they chuckle!!

Mad Hatter said...

I am all for calling it what it is. A very funny story, you have a new reader.