"Humiliation Galore!"

This is not a story that I really relish sharing ... because it'll ruin ANY mental image you have of me being the dainty and feminine creature that I do *try* to be.

But it's just so funny that I'll share it anyways.

First things first: I do not like the fact that I fart. I am a GIRL. Girls do not fart. ... And IF we did, they'd smell of roses and chocolate-chip cookies.

(When dating, you could tell if I was really comfortable with a guy when I'd eat with gusto in front of him [I seriously INHALE food. I eat FAST. Really. I had a girl STARE at me eat my freshman year of high school because she was AMAZED that I could eat that fast without, I don't know, choking or something.] and when I'll use the bathroom when we're together. Because girls don't have bodily functions. We just check out lipstick and hair. *nods* Yup.)

SO, what brings up this story is that (1) I'm getting over a visit from Aunt Flo, per se. My body is returning to normal. But that, combined with (2) my Nana's addictive baked beans ... well, let's just say that I'm not quite my delicate flower self. If you know what I mean. And I think you do.

But, Michael and I and the kidlets are in the living room at Mom and my stepdad's. My stepdad, C, is by the TV, in the chair. Michael is in another chair near the piano and I am across the narrow room, on the couch. The kids are flitting through the room like ferrets on a sugar high (Okay, they're not that bad. But they don't stay in one spot for long). ... And ... well ... you can guess what happened. There was no noise ... but there were some noxious fumes. And I didn't want to bring any attention to it ... A minute passes.

Then C goes, "Woah, you might want to change somebody's diaper!!"

I flush a deep red, but try not to say anything ... and I ask Bruise (because, hey! Maybe it IS time for him to get a clean diaper!), "Bruise, are you stinky?"

"No."

"Did you go poopies?"

"No."

I have him come to me so that I can check (because he doesn't always care to TELL me when he IS  sporting a dirty diaper). Sure enough, he's a clean and fresh as a toddler's bumoley can be.

C, by this time has left the room to go ... somewhere. Maybe to tell Mom how stinky her grandchildren are. I don't know. I confess to Michael that I'm the reason behind the stench.

"Why didn't you say so to C?"

"... I didn't want to have to admit it!!!!" I plaintively bleat.

C comes back, "So did you change a diaper?"

"Oh, it was just farts," I assure him.

"Wow."

-----------------------------

Later, my mom's back from resting ... C's out somewhere ... and Michael's with us, watching TV.
I confess to Mom ... who about cries with laughing about my status as a gas giant ... and how C had reacted to everything.

Yeah, my mom loves me. And is sworn to secrecy to not let C know that it wasn't the kids.

So, um, don't tell anyone, okay??

Because I'm a lady. And ladies do not have bodily functions. We are delicate flowers. We'd go into fits of vapors if you even insinuated that we might have ... orfices. Ew!!

But, um ... if you do smell something ... well, I'M REALLY, REALLY SORRY!!!!!
*flees in shame!!!!*