Toot-Toot Tootsie

Has this ever happened to you?

You invite some dear friends over to share a meal celebrating adjacent birthdays and, lo and behind, your energy is consumed masking, silencing, and coughing over your gaseous explosions? Saturday evening was just such a fart-fest for me. And they were killers, requiring me to excuse myself regularly and scurry to some unoccupied corner of the manse – not that our home sprawls that far or wide. I scampered so much, our friends must have thought I had sudden onset ADD.

Unfortunately, my cover was blown, literally, as I muffled a sneeze while carrying a steaming cup of coffee, resulting in a blast from my rear. Louis Armstrong would have applauded my trumpet skills. “What’s that?” my friend Bill inquired, as if he didn’t know. “That’s me,” I muttered as I swept past him.

No wonder they left so quickly after dessert, the dear Lord & Master quipped when I told him later. Bless him, smell is among his multiple lessened senses, so he didn’t catch a whiff all evening.

When I reported my troubles to Sassafrass, she, ever wise and precisely to the point, asked, “Didn’t you take some antacid?” No, I did not. I, who carry Phazyme in my pocketbook pill case at all times, completely forgot sweet relief awaited me in my medicine cabinet.

Sign me up for the marching band.


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