Aah, Manchild…my pal, my buddy, my…what the heck was that??? It’s about 8 am and I’m at the little house in the woods. Upstairs in the loft my beloved is snoring away, enjoying his beauty sleep. I can hear all kinds of birds chirping outside and I can hear the clickety clack of my fake fingernails on the laptop keyboard and I can hear…rat a tat tat, rumble, boom boom, putter putter putter, putter. Yep, Mr. Man is sounding off. His body is giving the old Bronx cheer, the bear’s bellow, releasing multiple air biscuits…he’s pooting up a storm.
I guess I’m grateful that his body is working well enough to get rid of all that noxiousness but DANG! And it’s not only happening when he’s asleep either. He seems to take great delight in leaning to one side of the chair and letting one rip right in front of me. He especially likes to do that in front of kidlet #2. That’s probably because she’s the world champion in the 13 year old and under class of air biscuit poofters. They challenge one another in categories such as volume, butt cheek flappage, length of release and of course, stench factor. They have choreographed special hand waving techniques to fully steward the stench towards one another. Manchild calls it the hand wave of death. They grin, wave their hand and wait for the other one to go “oh my GAAWAD!” They are sick-os!
I must be a sick-o too because sometimes I laugh at them. Listening to my guy up there in the loft, pooting away put a little grin on my face. It’s sort of like an endearing thing he does – it’s what makes him…him. He’s been doing it all of his life. I saw him doing it with my brothers when we were kids, I heard him doing it when he was in high school and now that we are married, I get to hear him do it every day. Dang, that dude has some GAS!