One day when I was a little girl, I was eating breakfast with Mum. As I slurped my cereal, I began to let out the longest fart of anyone, anywhere. I stopped slurping and began to laugh as my mother looked on, first with an expression of horror, then disgust, then sheer disbelief. My laughs punctuated the farts, changing them from the reverberating making-you-bounce-on-your-chair kind to the gutteral type caused by intermittent crack-sealing. Eventually it morphed into a long and winding squeak, more reverbs, some sliding sighs, and more squeals. Meanwhile, my mother starts holding in her own laughter, eyes dancing with amusement mixed with utter horror.
I finished with one finalizing poot, and Mum and I sit there for a second before she finally says, "You know, when I named you, I had envisioned this fine, respectable young lady with her hair swept up and dainty pearls about her neck. And now look at you!! YOU'RE FARTING AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE!!!" We both began to laugh at that and I've never forgotten it. It is one of my fonder memories of my youth; Mum acting disgusted with me, but laughing anyway.
Well, I'm still no lady, but I'm a little bit closer. This morning I made muffins and lemon squares for later tonight. Tonight, you see, Dale and I are hosting "tea." A couple friends are coming over and we're all going to squish into this little "tea room" I made upstairs. I figure we'll pile into a heap up there and talk about farts whilst having tea and sweets on my heavy piano plates.
I'll make sure my little finger sticks straight out while I sip and that my hair's swept back into a pile on my head. I don't have any pearls, though.
~nv
2 comments:
What have we learned from this blog entry? Don't Fart In the Tea Room! (said with a British accent)
LOL!!! Indeed. Oh, speaking of the tea room, I slept in it last night. It's quite comfy with a few blankies and all those pillows. I suppose I could have really gone overboard and heated up my slippers, but, I didn't. Too tired by then.
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