Our story continues the next morning. Yesterday’s adventure in butt humor had worked out so well, I decided to bring it up again to get the kids laughing. We were in the car on the way to the Rev’s house, where I would drop A. off to be watched while I took J. to swimming lessons.
I introduced the topic casually, “Hey, J. remember how I told you that Grandpa is the world grand champion of farts?”
“Yeah, Auntie,” J. replied, “He goes like this out of his butt: PBBBBFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT.”
“Right, Buddy. Do you know what Grandpa used to do to us every Christmas?”
“No, Auntie? What did he DO?” I glanced in the rear view mirror, both children were paying perfect attention, eyes as wide as saucers. Any horror story I tell/make up about our childhood makes the kids super excited.
“Every year on Christmas day, your Grandpa used to make us drive 5 HOURS to go to our Grandma Jasmin’s house. It’s cold in Kansas in the winter time, so we had to have the windows up in the car and the heater on. EVERY YEAR your Grandpa would get a gigantic cup of McDonald’s coffee, lock us all in the car, and FART the ENTIRE way to Goodland. Stinky, horrible, nasty, oily farts! Your Daddy and I would BEG to roll the window down, but Grandpa didn’t want to let any of the heat out of the car. We used to just open the window a tiny crack and put our noses up to it for miles until he caught us and made us put it up. Your Grandma mostly suffered in silence, but she was also drinking that foul coffee, so maybe she was more of a contributor than a martyr. Anyway, when we got to Grandma Jasmin’s and finally opened the door, your Daddy and I would fall out of the car and flop around on the ground like dying fish, gasping for air. Grandpa always said we were overdramatic, and maybe we were, but the stench of Grandpa farts could really get under your skin. If you smelled your arm even two or three hours later, it would be there, the Grandpa stink, just lingering. It was horrible!”
“Really, Auntie?” J asked, “Grandpa REALLY did that?”
“Yep, J., and if you don’t watch out, he’ll do it to you, too!”
“I don’t want Grandpa to take me to swimming lessons, Auntie. I’ll smell like FARTS the whole time!”
“Only if he gets coffee at McDonald’s, J. That’s what you have to watch out for!”
Then we made fart noises until we got to the Casa De Rev.
As soon as we walked in the door, J. approached my Dad. “Grandpa,” he said, “Did you get coffee at McDonald’s?”
“No,” my father replied.
“Good,” answered J. “Don’t do that anymore, Grandpa.”
25 years later, problem solved. Un-be-fucking-lievable.