image + tshirt via RedRubble.com When I was growing up, I was taught to act like a lady. "Stop it!" my mother would scream, "Lady's do not pick their noses." and "That is sickening, knock it off! Ladies do NOT toot!" By the time I was seven, I was so disgusted by the thought of expelled air being released from an asshole standing two feet in front of me (pun intended), that I wouldn't even say the "F" word. I still won't.
I have no idea how this all started, but the accidental slippage of a tiny toot has now escalated into a Broadway production for my daughter. From the time she gets up in the morning, until her head hits the pillow at night; my beautiful and prissy little 6-year-old girl looks for any excuse she can to unleash one of her silent, but often deadly, vapors. "Good morning!" I cheer, while kissing the back of her neck. Pffft.. "Ha ha ha, I just tooted!" <Sigh> "How was school today?" I ask as she leaps into the back of my car. Pppppttt.. "Did you hear THAT? I just tooted! Ha ha ha!"<Ignore> two minutes later: Pffft.. "Ha ha ha, I did it again!" <Eyes rolling> Later on, after finishing all of her homework and polishing off a bowl of popcorn, she'll retire to the lavatory for an afternoon reprieve; and just like clockwork, when I walk past the bathroom with an armload of laundry and ask what she wants for supper, I'll be greeted by yet another aromatic whisper. WHOooooffff "Oh man, did you hear how loud THAT ONE was?"
I know it's a phase–or at least that's what I keep telling myself, but when is it going to end? If my hair gets blown back one more time while I'm trying to help her squeeze into those skinny jeans, I swear... I'm either going to duct tape her butt cheeks together or pay for a surgeon to close it permanently! One day– a very, very, very, very, VERY long time from now, she's going to want to start dating; and all I can say is, Watch out! She is either going to remain single for the rest of her life; continuing to play her little game of hide and squeak, or she will never toot again–in which case, the entire argument could blow up right in my face.
I have no idea how this all started, but the accidental slippage of a tiny toot has now escalated into a Broadway production for my daughter. From the time she gets up in the morning, until her head hits the pillow at night; my beautiful and prissy little 6-year-old girl looks for any excuse she can to unleash one of her silent, but often deadly, vapors. "Good morning!" I cheer, while kissing the back of her neck. Pffft.. "Ha ha ha, I just tooted!" <Sigh> "How was school today?" I ask as she leaps into the back of my car. Pppppttt.. "Did you hear THAT? I just tooted! Ha ha ha!"<Ignore> two minutes later: Pffft.. "Ha ha ha, I did it again!" <Eyes rolling> Later on, after finishing all of her homework and polishing off a bowl of popcorn, she'll retire to the lavatory for an afternoon reprieve; and just like clockwork, when I walk past the bathroom with an armload of laundry and ask what she wants for supper, I'll be greeted by yet another aromatic whisper. WHOooooffff "Oh man, did you hear how loud THAT ONE was?"
I know it's a phase–or at least that's what I keep telling myself, but when is it going to end? If my hair gets blown back one more time while I'm trying to help her squeeze into those skinny jeans, I swear... I'm either going to duct tape her butt cheeks together or pay for a surgeon to close it permanently! One day– a very, very, very, very, VERY long time from now, she's going to want to start dating; and all I can say is, Watch out! She is either going to remain single for the rest of her life; continuing to play her little game of hide and squeak, or she will never toot again–in which case, the entire argument could blow up right in my face.
