An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Just in time for Christmas

I’m about to tell you a story that involves a dog fart and how it almost killed me. What? You didn’t come here for that? Do you want to hear about the stretch marks on my butt? Because I haven’t gotten nearly enough mileage out of those suckers, except maybe when I discovered Marlo sitting on the floor of the mud room with both of her feet in the dog’s water bowl, and I was all I DID NOT ALLOW MY BUTT CHEEKS TO MORPH INTO A PAIR OF NINETY-YEAR-OLD VAGINAS JUST SO YOU COULD ACT LIKE AN IDIOT.

She didn’t remove her feet from the water, but I sure did felt better about myself.

Last week we were all sitting at lunch, the dogs waiting underneath the table for something to accidentally fall off of a fork, when there was a small lull in the conversation. Suddenly Chuck let out a fart that had to squeak its way out of his butt, past the hardwood floor and out into the open air. Like a perfectly tuned trumpet solo of one note:

PPPHHHHBOOOOOOOHHHHHWWWWW!

As if that weren’t bad enough, he reached his head around to his butt to smell it. Really, Chuck? You’re not even going to try and make it seem like it was Coco? Is this what all these years of pictures on the Internet have done to you? Robbed you of your dignity? Of your ingenuity? YOU CAN HAS FARTS?

Everyone at the table scattered like frightened cats because of one) the sound, two) the smell of rotten egg, and three) did that dog really just smell his own fart OH YES HE DID.

And while I was gagging and crawling toward the other side of the room, Tyrant started waving his hand violently to get air away from his face and said, “That’s another thing I hate about dogs: that they aren’t smart enough to wait until someone is talking to go ahead and do a thing like that. At least TRY to disguise the noise!”

I mean, I KNOW, right? The audacity of that canine to wait for just the right comedic moment.

I couldn’t help it, all day long I played that sound over and over in my head and laughed to myself:

PPPHHHHBOOOOOOOHHHHHWWWWW!

Farts aren’t supposed to be funny, except they are. They’re hysterical, especially when your dog does it while everyone is eating a meal and it sounds like a note from an opera:

PPPHHHHBOOOOOOOHHHHHWWWWW!

So that night we were sitting around the dinner table talking about our day, asking Leta about school, did she have fun at PE, how much of her lunch did she actually eat and how much did she sell? When I remembered The Fart, and as I was telling Leta about it, I took a moment to shovel a spoonful of peas into my mouth. Right then Jon imitated the noise with such precision that I thought Chuck had given us an encore. Leta started laughing, and so did I. That’s when the peas got sucked directly into my airway, blocking my ability to breathe.

For the first couple of seconds I thought, hmmm… no problem, I’ll just cough these things out. But every time I coughed they got lodged further and further in my throat. A few more seconds went by, a few more seconds without any air, and I started to panic. What happens if a spoonful of peas actually gets into your lungs? Has this ever happened to anyone? Do I have time to google PEAS IN LUNG before I die? Will the resulting images kill me first?

And then I looked over at Jon whose face had contorted into OH MY GOD MY WIFE IS DYING. That’s when I started to worry that he was worrying too much, and so instead of trying to dislodge the pea I tried to mime that I was okay! No need to worry! THINGS COULD BE SO MUCH WORSE! Like right about now! I’m going to suffocate, don’t mind me! I’ll be in the bathroom! NO WORRIES, K?

I had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth if I got really serious about saving my own life, so I closed the door behind me not wanting to traumatize anyone still enjoying their meal. I made it only to the sink where I used every muscle in my body to make a THOOOK! gesture with my throat, and out came a single, perfectly round pea. I picked it up with my thumb and forefinger as I took my first breath in what seemed like months, inspected it, and that thing wasn’t even dented! Don’t peas come out of the womb dented?

From dog fart to near asphyxiation! And not in the way you would think!

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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