The Fart

While my family may fart with abandon at home, my office is a dignified place where no farting (at least no audible farting) goes on.

So you can imagine my chagrin this morning when I coughed extra hard and blew a substantial toot out my hind end, the kind of toot a tuba player might be proud of.

Oh feck, I thought, hoping against hope that the hack-hack noise of my cough camouflaged the barrumph noise emanating from the vicinity of my chair.

I looked around to see if anyone noticed. All heads were bowed to their computers, noses to the grindstone.

Whew. Looked like the old cough/fart combo fooled 'em once again.

Then I smelled what I had dealt.

Oh feck, feck, feck. I started to laugh, couldn't help it. People lifted their faces to see what I was laughing about but I pretended I wasn't laughing, "don't mind me, just having a seizure," so they went back to work.

Vastly relieved, I decided to pre-empt further embarrassment. I took a cold-and-cough pill and practiced squeezing my butt cheeks together. Squeeze, release, squeeze release, three more, two more.

My sister used to have a horse that farted every time he coughed. She had him put down.

Note to self: don't fart around sister.