Recently we have embarked on a new leisure activity with our friends in the form of a fondue pot. Yes, we have gone old-school 70s style minus the disco and atrocious avocado-colored decor. We gather once every week or two and settle in for a long, social meal. There is much laughter to be had. Especially when one farts.
Which brings me to . . .
Have you ever seen Shawn of the Dead? If you haven’t, you must do so, it is excellent. In the movie one of the characters was prone to deadly, silent farts, which he would acknowledge to his buddy, Shawn, with variants of, “I’m sorry, Shawn. No, I’m really sorry,” until Shawn perceived, or smelled, what was going on and gave in to laughter, despite himself. It’s a running joke that we’ve taken up to using amongst ourselves.
Back to the fondue: just such a fondue was going on at our place yesterday evening. During the main course, I leaned over to snag some chicken when I decided to release a bit o’ air, forgetting Mr. Carlin’s famous advice of releasing a “test fart” first.
“Fzzztttt–bluh-bluh-bluh-bluh-bluh-woosh . . .”
Everyone was talking so loud I almost pulled it off. Almost. Perceptive Steven, though, knew what I did, gave me a funny look, and backed away a bit.
“Ohhh, so that’s what that was!” Lisa exclaimed.
Now I’m in a silent fit of laughter with tears leaking out of my eyes.
“What do we say, Carrie?” someone — I think Ken — said.
I couldn’t get the words out but I summed up all my effort to mouth, “I’m sorry, Shawn!”
And thus is a typical night of fondue, friends, and farting.