Ongoing Stories of My Soul

Look over my shoulder as I ponder life.

A Male Past-time: Passing Gas

If you have spent time with a male between the ages of five and, oh, say nine, then this story will make perfect sense. If you have only been surrounded by young ladies, and have had no brothers, skip this blog. You will roll your eyes and mutter, “I don’t get it.”

But this is about boys and their fascination with farts, farting noises, and the like. Let someone ‘break wind’, ‘cut the cheese’, ‘pass gas’ and the male gender will collapse with laughter. Oh…and this bodily function can be imitated by said males by putting their hands in their armpits and mimicking the farting sound. I don’t know….is this what is taught in boys’ bathrooms as well as at recess? I should know….I spent 32 years standing outside the boys’ room counting down for them to exit and learned more than ‘knock-knock’ jokes at recess. And I must admit, there is nothing that can disrupt the teaching moment more than a kid passing gas. Or the teacher. Just saying…

I truly think that trying to study a fetal ultrasound to see if it is a boy or girl is unnecessary. All that is needed is for the technician or dad to make a farting sound, joke about farts, etc. and watch the screen. If the fetus smacks its knee or starts bouncing off the womb’s walls, then you know it is a boy. Which will grow up to be a man. And will still find farts funny.

This is why I recently purchased a special gift for my six year old grandson. I bought him a Whoopee Cushion. You know, that rubber pillow thing that has entertained youngsters for years. Well, this may be the day of electronics and techno-toys, but my three grandsons were over the moon (pardon the pun) with this ridiculous toy. I showed them how it worked, and let them loose. The room erupted with laughter when I um… ‘surprisingly’ sat on the Whoopee Cushion. I thought we would have to pull out riot gear, that’s how delirious they became when Mamaw let out such ‘gas’!!!

Well, the party was winding down and I decided I would sit on the Whoopee Cushion one more time– very satisfied that such a simple, old toy could create such fun. So, I inflated the rubber device, and plopped my fanny on the thing. Either it was placement or my weight, but as I settled myself on the Whoopee Cushion, the sound was very, very different. It was like a fart gone postal. Seems that I had popped a hole in the darn thing! Well, the boys were irate but the adults—myself included—could not stop laughing. Leave it to grandma to break the birthday gift, and laugh until she almost leaked.

Sigh. So there you have it. Boys will be boys….and some grandmas will end their entertainment. Once, when I was about to read an article out of the paper, I summoned my husband and son, and said, “Listen to this!” But my gaseous state pre-empted my reading voice and what they heard was a female fart that made both males proud. Never did get to share the newspaper story. I am certain that when the merits of my life are recalled, someone will say, “Remember the time mom said, ‘listen to this’ and farted really loud?”

Well, I just want you all to know that on this day, I replaced the Whoopee Cushion that my big butt erupted. My grandson’s world is now set straight by a silly toy of yester-year. And I can go to my house and do what any person living alone can do: fart with freedom.



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