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January 19, 2008

Will you still need me, will you still feed me...

Warning: Old person ahead!

Okay, I’ve finally reached the age where the reality of growing old can no longer be so easily ignored. Mentally I seem as sharp as I’ve always been. My ability to solve relatively difficult crossword puzzles remains intact and I have yet to find myself standing in a public square with my pants down around my ankles wondering how I got there. Physiologically is where the most obvious signs of old age are beginning to creep in and I am beginning to experience peripheral glitches in my biological processes.

Last night my wife and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite Italian eateries. We started off the evening with an antipasto sampler consisting of deep fried slices of Mozzarella cheese, Bruschetta with a delightful diced vegetable and olive oil topping and Calamari. I followed this up with a cup of delicious lentil and spicy sausage soup and bread. Just before the entree of shrimp cooked in a lemon butter and garlic sauce and served over angel hair pasta arrived I enjoyed a Caesar salad with fresh anchovies. For dessert I enjoyed one cup of espresso and some wonderful Cannoli.

It was a feast fit for a king and afterwards I was completely sated. It was a while and a second cup of coffee before I could even consider standing up and leaving the table. If not for the grumbling crowd of eager diners waiting in the wings I’d probably have stayed until a nap had been completed. Felicia usually frowns upon my public after dinner naps but she’s grown used to them and I can usually get in a good ten minute rest before she kicks me under the table.

So we pay the check, the waiter thanks us for choosing Carrabba’s and feigns a passable show of hoping Felicia, Myself and our child will dine in with them again in the near future. We exit the establishment and begin crossing the parking lot in preparation of heading home. Little did I know that I was about to experience one of the most unexpected, loud and embarrassing moments in recent memory.

Just as Felicia is about to complete the task of securing Micah in his car seat I let rip with one of the longest, loudest and smelly farts ever to escape my butt cheeks. It happened without warning and no one was more surprised than me when it happened. Now, we’re not talking your every day run of the mill fart here. This was a trumpeting blast the likes of which have not been heard in the Miami Valley since the great Tyrannosaurus Rex roamed the fertile forests of the world.

It shook the very ground upon which we were standing and shattered car windows and set off alarms in a forty foot circumference around the initial blast area. It wasn’t until I heard the muffled cry of a woman slightly behind me and to my right that I realized anyone else was in the vicinity of our car. As I turned to apologize I watched as the woman wilted like a dying lily in an English garden and fell to the asphalt gasping like a fish out of water. I was mortified and even more so when her husband and son had to fireman carry her out of the death cloud and into the safety of the restaurant foyer before they fell to their knees and began retching and vomiting themselves.

Micah burst into laughter and before it dawned on me what she was doing, Felicia had closed the car door, raced around to the driver's side, entered the vehicle, locked the doors and started the engine. The last I saw of her she was nothing but screeching tires and red taillights screaming into the night. Although I don’t fault her I sure expected a bit more from her being the father of her baby and all.

Well, it wasn’t long before the restaurant managers and curious patrons began coming outside to see what was happening. After the first few individuals began turning green and hitting the pavement people were soon trampling each other to get back inside to the air-conditioned safety of the dinning room. Shortly after that the fire trucks arrived along with a couple of Hazmat teams. I was then stripped, isolated inside a decontamination tent and hosed down with a variety of air jets, foams and chemical agents. It was anything but one of the high moments in my life...

Yes, I agreed to pay for the unfortunate family’s taxi ride home, seeing as it will be a while before their car is fit to drive again, if indeed it ever will be. After bathing in a washtub of tomato juice for three hours, Felicia finally let me into the house where I got to sleep in the basement for the night. Again, although I don’t fault her I sure expected a bit more from her being the father of her baby and all.

It was a tough night and I guess I learned a valuable lesson. I think it’s maybe time I begin accepting the fact that I’m not nearly as young as I used to be. Can anyone tell me if Depends are as effective at absorbing accidental gaseous discharges as they are the liquid ones?

I think I have a need to know.


15 Comments:

Blogger Merelyme said...

oh my god...i have tears in my eyes. oh the humanity! i have the utmost compassion for your gassy self. my admiration grows just for the very fact that you didn't blame your baby.

January 19, 2008 10:34 PM  
Blogger DirkStar said...

merelyme - Thanks for the tip!

Now I know how to handle the situation should it ever arise again.

January 19, 2008 10:46 PM  
Anonymous crunchy carpets said...

Is it age that does them farts?
I have known biohazards for a looooong time.

In fact my 5year old boy can knock us all dead with his SILENT WMD's.

And yes..you didn't blame the child! Foolish man!

Snort.

January 19, 2008 11:29 PM  
Blogger DirkStar said...

crunchy - Okay, so I didn't blame the baby.

If Felicia hadn't driven away in such a hurry I was gonna blame it on her.

January 20, 2008 12:06 AM  
Blogger Muhd Imran said...

The good thing about it is that Wifey and child are safe.

If age has got anything to do with it, then I have an even new high of admiration to the people who work in old folks homes.

They should be paid handsomely for their hazardous jobs of what would potentially be ground zero everyday!

Did the cloud of gas smell Italian... ish?

Would you dine out for Mexican food next? Something to ponder...

Good post. Put a smile in a catastrophic situation.

January 20, 2008 12:14 AM  
Blogger You can Call me AL said...

Oh my GOD !!! I'm wiping the tears from eyes, I'm still laughing.

That has to be one of the funnest writings of farting I've ever read. Thank You, Thank you and Thank you for such a good story.

January 20, 2008 2:24 AM  
Blogger Claudia said...

Wow, that's so tough. Here, imagine a biggggggg warm hug from me. I am patting you on your back, murmuring words of encouragement: It's only human. There, there Dirk...

As you walk away, people wrinkle their noses, but it has nothing to do with the "It was Me" sign I taped to your back.


:hugs:!

January 20, 2008 3:03 AM  
Blogger Doc said...

First of all I am glad that I live in North Caorlina.. Second if you are that rank in the arse I am not sure depends are going to help... Maybe a wetsuit??

January 20, 2008 6:33 AM  
Blogger Wizened Wizard said...

And you say you need a hug??? Sounds risky to me... One word for you, my friend: BEANO.

Or maybe you could always make sure you are accompanied by a large dog. With practice, when a fart attack occurs you can feign shock and horror, turn to the dog and say, "Rover!!" (Although I once knew a guy who ripped a silent but deadly one and gave a shocked look at the dog under the table. It seemed to work, because everyone else at the table looked at the dog, and grandpaw said, "Rover!" So the guy did it a second time: all eyes turned to the dog again and grandpaw again said, "Rover!" The third time, old grandpaw looked at the dog and repeated, "Rover! Get out from under there before he shits on you!"

January 20, 2008 7:11 AM  
Blogger Craig D said...

You're looking at this all wrong, Dirk!

This is the dawning of a new era for you.

An era called, "Hey, Junior, how about pulling Daddy's finger?"

As my wife would tell you, I have no idea of how to control this affliction.

January 20, 2008 7:31 AM  
Blogger MY OWN WOMAN... said...

And you want a hug? Hmmmmm

I am gross and perverted... I'm obsessed and deranged.
I have existed for years but very little has changed.
I'm the tool of the government and industry too,
I am destinted to rule and regulate you.
I may be vile and pernicious,
but you can't look away.
I make you think I'm delicious with the stuff that I say.
I'm the best you can get
Have you guessed me yet?

I'm the gass ozzzing out from my...digestive set.

Thanks for the laughs

January 20, 2008 12:47 PM  
Blogger Jay said...

That was brutal dude. Maybe you guys could take the dog with you wherever you go so you could just blame it all on the dog? It's a bit mean to blame it on the kid or the wife, but you could if you need to.

January 20, 2008 4:58 PM  
Blogger cher said...

ok, dude. crack me right up. you've got a great little blog here yourself!

i think i would have pointed at your wife driving away and yelled something like "after her! who the hell does drive by farting anyway? lets get her!"

January 20, 2008 7:16 PM  
Blogger Asara Dragoness said...

lol, um.. beano ftw? :) *hug*

January 20, 2008 11:06 PM  
Blogger Pepper said...

This is funny and I don't blame your wife for making you sleep in the basement.

How is your puppy?

Mine is coughing, senile, and forgetful.

You are suppose to spend your refund check on something that will stimulate the economy. It is a great responsibility and one that cannot be taken lightly. WE ARE RESPONSIBLE for stimulation. God this situation sucks. No wonder my migraines have returned.

January 24, 2008 2:59 PM  

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