I've always heard that if you live somewhere for a year, it begins to feel like home. I agree with most aspects of this rule, but for me it's when I find my friend who laughs when I do. This time, of course, being when something is bathroom level funny.
This idea has been rolling around in my brain (lots of open space up there) for a couple of days. I was at a meeting the other night and had to excuse myself due to the excessive flatulence I had been holding back for two hours. Upon exiting the building, I expressed my (GAS! ha ha ah! See? FUNNY.) reasons for leaving the building to a friend with a snicker and a hearty giggle. She said she just didn't get that. Sigh.
How is bathroom humor not funny? Pigpen has clearly inherited my bathroom humor. Mr. Pigs was reading to him the other day from a Winnie the Pooh book. Everytime he read the word "Pooh", Pigpen guffawed mightily and yelled, "He has poo pooo!!!" And I promptly doubled over in hysterical laughter. Every. Single. Time. Giggling now! Still funny. Poop is timeless.
How many times have you read about poop on this blog? I just typed the word poop into the search box in the top left corner and can't count how many poop posts came up. Now THAT is a label I should put on my blog posts (clearly for statistical reasons only) to keep track.
It's hard to live for the bathroom funnies when you are raised in a house in which the "F word" was fart. My mother just cringed reading that. She's probably planning a public slap on the wrist for me as we speak. My sister is laughing and glad it's not her who said it. My sister and I used to taunt her by singing at dinner, "Beans, beans, they're good for your heart, the more you eat, the more you......" and we would just leave her there hanging. About to come unglued.
So in the interest of pleasing my mother, I will call it a BFF that I am seeking in Georgia: a Best F-word Friend. I know several perfectly nice, good friends who are definitely not going to be my BFF. I've only had a few BFFs in the different places I've lived, but when you know one, it's a permanent relationship. The only one I will expose publicly is my pal Carla of Texas/Nebraskan fame. This one is easy to understand when I tell you that we were pregnant together. For ten months. During the summer with 42 days over 100 degrees. The amount of unpleasantness we experienced together far surpasses any sort of regular BFF relationship and ascends (descends?) into Best Nasty Friend territory. Perhaps a TMIBFF, if you will. I will leave it at that.
When I count them up, I think my BFFs total 5. This number clearly does not include my mother, but I like to pretend that it does, so I make sure to freely include her in any emissions or discussions I need to have. This inclusion is rarely appreciated. So, until someone steps forward, it's me and Pigpen. Tootin' and gigglin'. Poopin' and snickerin'. We're going to attempt potty training in a couple of weeks over Spring Break. Should be a real poot. Er....hoot.
[giggling to self]
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9 comments:
And the "B word" in our house was BUTT! (*gasp!*)
And the "B word" in our house was BUTT! (*gasp!*)
I'm telling!
I'm just an old fart, I guess.
Now, see? THAT'S funny! You can do it.
The F word in our house was Fart too. My mom still won't use it. The OTHER F word, however, is fair game. How is this possible?
I would like to publicly declare that I will be your Best F-Friend and I couldn't be more excited to be so. I think you probably have another - won't call her out but I think you know who.
Sniff. *wiping away tears of joy*
We weren't allowed to say the F-word, either. We could only say "foots" (maybe the fancier spelling of that would be "foitse"?). My sister and I would torture Mom with the same Bean song, but we'd also lay on our backs holding up our feet, chanting "One foot, to foots!!" and laugh hysterically.
Um, we still do. :)
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