Let’s just jump right in. Shall we? Everyone passes gas. It’s natural. I get that. What I don’t understand is why certain children need to be taught the do’s and don’ts of letting-one-fly. The children that I am referring to may or may not be related to me. I clarify that in order to protect their identity and perhaps their embarrassment.
The other day the four members of my family were driving in my car. Or maybe it was two other children—I can’t say for sure. While we were crossing town, someone in the back seat floated-an-air-muffin. A really big and bad one. You know, the eye watering variety. I had to pull the car over for two reasons. First, I did not want to have to explain to the police officer what happened just before I hit the telephone pole. Although after hearing of my recent torture, he probably would have let me off without the ticket. The second reason is that I had to lay down the law on when you can rip-one and when you need to pinch the source.
The lesson started with, “Never, never in the car with other passengers.” It’s just plain dangerous for the driver. One day, when you find yourself driving all by yourself, toot-your-horn for the entire trip—continuously if you must. However, if you’re alone in your car approaching someone who you will be picking up, the butt-sneezing must stop at least five minutes before their arrival. Moreover, the windows should be lowered all the way down, even in the dead of winter. Creating the “gas chamber on wheels” and then inviting your passengers in will reduce your total number of friends drastically.
I decided that the lesson should not stop with just the rules of the car. “Never ever bottom-burp while standing next to your mother!” I understand that you think it’s funny to do that standing next to the Dad. I’m not sure why I accept that, but I do. It’s probably some sort of genetic cross up that began a zillion years ago. But as for dropping-the-bomb next to the Mom, not so much. She didn’t carry you for nine long months so that one day you could fumigate her.
If you are in a small room hanging out with people, do not under any circumstance think that you can pull off the silent-but-deadly attack. Walk to another room for your bum-blast, wait for a minimum of four minutes, and then return to your company. Return too early and you risk carrying the exhaust fumes with you.
You can safely deliver your fanny-bubble while standing in line at an amusement park. While waiting for your favorite roller coaster ride, the outdoor breeze should conceal your dirty-little-secret. However, if you are standing in line at the grocery store, keep your talking-pants in check. “Honey, I think you might have picked up a bad cabbage.”
I’m sure there are countless other rules. The scenarios in which these children will encounter over their lifetime are probably immeasurable. Although being a good father, I believe I laid out a good foundation for understanding when it is appropriate to cut-the-cheese and when you should mute the trouser-trumpet. My work here is done.