Howdy all! I am very pleased to present to you, a good friend of mine, (in that she's probably the first person I've met in Myspace that I also met in real life) a Jersey Girl for life, (how sad) and one of the most hilarious women I've ever met: Hey Kel! (Kelly is her real name.) When I met her I noticed that she has the rapid delivery and impecable timing of a stand-up comedian, so I decided right then and there to see if she's as funny a writer as she is in person. Guess what? It worked. She's frickin hilarious!
So, without further ado, I'm proud to introduce, for her first, (and hopefully not last) time as a writer in Eighty-Four Glyde: HEY KEL!
Lay it down for these fools girl!
First off, so that we're all aware of what it is we're discussing, a poof is a bodily function that releases gaseous waste. I don't say f*rt. I think it's an ugly word, so when I say "poof", know that we're talking f*rts.
You might be thinking,"Why is this girl talking about poofing? What, is she some sort of skank?". The answer is no. I'm not a skank. I would just like to know if my ideas on poofing are normal.
Let's take it back a few years, to the age of five or so. I grew up in my grandparents' house, with my mom and my aunt. I was taught to mind my manners, say "please" and "thank you", chew with my mouth closed, and save all bodily functions for the restroom. If it happened to slip, it was known in my house as "passing gas". I don't care for that term. "I've just passed gas." To whom? Why would you pass your gas? Hence, "poof" was born.
These manners had been drilled into me, like a prisoner of war. I had been brain washed. If someone is in my presence chewing with their mouth open, I get a tight feeling in my chest, I start to shake and sometimes cry, and have an urge to flip the dinner table onto them, then go over and step on their throat with a high-heeled cowboy boot, but that's another blog altogether.
Fast forward to 1990. I was 14. I was hanging out with my "boyfriend" and his friend, sitting on the street, Indian style, the three of us in a circle, talking about nothing. In the dead of the night, it escaped like a mouse from its trap. I looked at the boyfriend, who was looking down the street, trying to pretend he didn't hear it. I thought I got away with it, until I looked in the direction of the friend. I can picture it in slow motion, looking in the face of the friend, who screamed into the night, "YOUUUUUUU SKAAAAANNNNKKKK!!!!! YOU JUST F*RTED!" I tried blaming it on my shoe rubbing against a pebble on the pavement. No dice. It wasn't happening. I'm sure my face was glowing crimson. (My heart is pounding and my palms are sweaty as we speak) I don't think I emerged from my house for a year. No joke.
2007- I have been married to my husband for twelve years, together for thirteen. I have yet to poof in front of him. At least, that's what I think. One may have slipped out during slumber, but he'd never admit that to me for fear of me hanging myself from the rafters in the garage and having to raise our children alone. Why is this an issue for me? Is it like this for everyone? I have been in situations with horrible stomach cramps, sweat pouring out of me, but I refuse to release the poof. Is this normal?
I've discussed this with my husband. I told him I was going to start poofing in front of him. I've endured his bodily waste for thirteen years. I bore him three children. I think I deserve compassion and understanding. Do you know what he said? "DON'T YOU DARE, IT'S DISRESPECTFUL." I'm waiting for the divorce lawyer to call back.
So my question to you is, "Is it normal and acceptable to poof in front of your significant other, or anyone else for that matter?"
Stay tuned for my next blog entitled "Belches-Are They Worse Than Poofs?"