Fart Fest

For a long time I have been the only female in my house. Living with 5 sons and a hubby (can you imagine!) is one heck of an adventure to say the least. The toilet seat is always up, there are always heaping mounds of soiled laundry (which have to be inspected thoroughly for dissected worms, frogs, insects), my living room is transformed into a wrestling arena on a nightly basis, my cupboards are always bare (3 of them are teenagers), Friday nights are Fart Fest (you know how competitive guy's are) and good ole Mom has the privilege of judging (smelling, pee-yew!) each colon based on volume, duration of the ripple effect, and stench! I myself find these moments disgustingly funny when we are in the privacy of our own home. Unfortunately the competitive nature of the male species can not be contained inside the walls of their habitat. Price Chopper (the local grocery store) has become a Furbeck Favorite "stomping ground" for Fart Fest. The stage is set with Mom standing in the middle of the bread isle next to several other shoppers (unsuspecting souls) trying to decide between white or whole wheat when one of my well mannered boy's (demon spawn) wraps their arms around me from behind and says "I love you Mom" all the time knowing that they are about to "drop it like it's hot" and then say " Mom! say excuse me" while quickly moving away from me (I am now utterly embarrassed, mortified) as to not draw attention to themselves. Of course it is almost always a loud thunderous and very smelly expulsion of gas (I'd give them a 9 & 1/2 if we were at home). Let's not forget the theatrical touch of each one of them squeezing their nostrils and waving their hands as if they are fanning the smell away from them. "Just cleaning out our colon's Mom!" (laughter permeates the bread isle) chant my lovely boy's, "remember what you tell us about colon cancer (nurse Mommy)" they say. Ooh, the joys of parenting 5 males and being married to the King of Fart Fest.