Snicker

Note: those of you who a) can't handle fart stories, or b) would prefer not to hear a fart story in which a female has the lead, please ignore this entry.

For the rest of you, well, here goes...

On Saturday as I was excavating my closets, both the boys were supervising my work (i.e., I had spectators). I tell you, there's nothing like busting your butt to get something done with loungers in attendance. Nothing would do for them, though, than to be right in there with me, alternately staring at me like a fish in a bowl or giggling punctuated by occasional attempts at fratricide.

Eventually the Gum Zombie got tired of watching me get pelted by the avalanche of sweaters on the upper shelf and left to go do something more exciting like count how many times the cats befouled the litter box in an hour.

The elder offspring, however, continued to loll in my bed playing either his Nintendo DS or his Sony PSP (I can't keep track of which one he's enamoured of from one moment to the next) as I attempted to extricate myself from the pile of shoes, sweaters, and assorted goodies and not-so-goodies I'd unearthed from the closet. I finally managed to pry myself loose and was almost standing when I felt an unfortunate, erm... escape. Of the gaseous nature.

I pretended nothing had happened and all was well until about fifteen seconds later when the elder offspring lifted his head from his video game and said,

"Mommy? Did you fart?"

"Uhm... I may have."

Sniff, sniff. "Mom, that's DISGUSTING!!!"

And he fled.

I snickered.

Peace reigned. And conveniently, as my nose has been a bit stopped up, I didn't suffer any ill-effects from the bomb I apparently detonated.

I might have to do that more often.