OK, since so many of us will gladly admit to laughing at farts and pulling fingers, I'm goign to share my most embarassing moment for your reading pleasure.
I take no responsiblity for spat-out beverages.
I used to date a guy named Mike. Mike was a tight family comprised of Shannon (sister), a BIL, and the mom. The whole lot of us were headed out for dinner one night but had stopped by Mike's mom's house for a cocktail.
As we were enjoying our cocktail, I felt it: an intestinal bubble was trying to emerge.
The evening progressed and I got more and more uncomfortable. Finally, came time to leave.
I saw my shining window of opportunity: I could release the fart beast in the brief time between leaving the house and getting into the car.
Shannon & her hubbie went to start the car. I walked slowing through the garage while Mike & his mom set the alarm inside the house.
Pppffffffttttt Aaaahhhhh...!
I was grateful for a silent release as I strode across the garage through the open door. Heck, I was grateful for release at all! At last: I could spend the rest of the evening without fear of a machine gun-like staccato sound erupting from my jeans.
I continued toward Shannon's car when Mike and his mom walked into the garage. All of a sudden I could see them walk through the green cloud. A visible pallor came over their faces. They started to gesture to Shannon and her hubbie.
Suddenly, Mike started yelling and Shannon: "Shannon, get over here! Bring your husband! You've gotta smell this!"
What the heck? Why was Mike yelling as his sister to leave the warmth of the car on a cold winter night to smell my fart? I stood aside and watched as Mike and all this living relatives willingly walked into the sulfurous emissions of my backside to take a sniff.
Mike continued: "Shannon, smell that. Right here. No, come here and smell it. It's bad! (DM and DBIL nodded in agreement, following their noses around the garage to catch a whiff of the malodourous cloud). You've got to take your car back to the garage and make them fix it right this time. I thought you got your catalytic converter fixed!"
OMG. Not only where they standing around conferring on where it smelled worst, but now Shannon was going to incur an expense because she thought her car was broken!!
I liked Shannon. I didn't want her to spend money unnecessarily. So I cleared my throat. I could barely speak. I was both laughing hysterically and crying at the same time. After all, these poor people had no idea that the stink-ridden air they were inhaling deeply had only seconds prior been inside my colon.
I choked up a bit and all eyes turned to me. Because I'm very fair, I practically glowed from the deep blush of embarassment. As soon as they saw me, saw the look on my face, and heard my nervous laugh, they knew: they were standing in my fart and breathing it into their lungs. I had to confess to Shannon that her car was fine.
I take no responsiblity for spat-out beverages.
I used to date a guy named Mike. Mike was a tight family comprised of Shannon (sister), a BIL, and the mom. The whole lot of us were headed out for dinner one night but had stopped by Mike's mom's house for a cocktail.
As we were enjoying our cocktail, I felt it: an intestinal bubble was trying to emerge.
The evening progressed and I got more and more uncomfortable. Finally, came time to leave.
I saw my shining window of opportunity: I could release the fart beast in the brief time between leaving the house and getting into the car.
Shannon & her hubbie went to start the car. I walked slowing through the garage while Mike & his mom set the alarm inside the house.
Pppffffffttttt Aaaahhhhh...!
I was grateful for a silent release as I strode across the garage through the open door. Heck, I was grateful for release at all! At last: I could spend the rest of the evening without fear of a machine gun-like staccato sound erupting from my jeans.
I continued toward Shannon's car when Mike and his mom walked into the garage. All of a sudden I could see them walk through the green cloud. A visible pallor came over their faces. They started to gesture to Shannon and her hubbie.
Suddenly, Mike started yelling and Shannon: "Shannon, get over here! Bring your husband! You've gotta smell this!"
What the heck? Why was Mike yelling as his sister to leave the warmth of the car on a cold winter night to smell my fart? I stood aside and watched as Mike and all this living relatives willingly walked into the sulfurous emissions of my backside to take a sniff.
Mike continued: "Shannon, smell that. Right here. No, come here and smell it. It's bad! (DM and DBIL nodded in agreement, following their noses around the garage to catch a whiff of the malodourous cloud). You've got to take your car back to the garage and make them fix it right this time. I thought you got your catalytic converter fixed!"
OMG. Not only where they standing around conferring on where it smelled worst, but now Shannon was going to incur an expense because she thought her car was broken!!
I liked Shannon. I didn't want her to spend money unnecessarily. So I cleared my throat. I could barely speak. I was both laughing hysterically and crying at the same time. After all, these poor people had no idea that the stink-ridden air they were inhaling deeply had only seconds prior been inside my colon.
I choked up a bit and all eyes turned to me. Because I'm very fair, I practically glowed from the deep blush of embarassment. As soon as they saw me, saw the look on my face, and heard my nervous laugh, they knew: they were standing in my fart and breathing it into their lungs. I had to confess to Shannon that her car was fine.
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