My grandmother is a farting machine. Seriously, it never stops. And she knows it. She talks about when she was younger and she worked for Woolworth. She just couldn't believe the old women who would come into the store and pass gas as if it was nothing at all. Now she understands that they couldn't control it because she can't control it.
But wow, it is like a flatulence gatling gun I'm fairly certain why this happens as we age. But I've never heard them come in such constant and quick succession. Fortunately for all concerned there isn't a real odor associated with them. It just makes me laugh. I can't believe I just wrote a whole blog about my grandmother's gas. I know I promised to only tell my story, and this isn't technically my story, except for the fact that it is my story because for the last three weeks I have been the one to witness this.
I'm ready to go back home. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed. I'm ready for the only gas that is passed to be my own.
3 comments:
personally, i'm glad YOU still have control. thanks for being such a wonderful friend.
Come home! :)
your post reminded me of my grandmother, who before she died at 93 would sit around with her sister and laugh about their farts. the really hilarious part was that her sister couldn't hear them, so my grandmother would say "lucille!" and start to crack up, and then lucille would grin and say "did i break wind again? oh well..."
i miss those women. they really knew how to laugh.
Post a Comment