I've been practicing
So when Calvin and I first got together, the whole family would make fun of me for being so gosh-danged polite in my own house. Little baby burps were masked by a hand in front of the mouth, and Marie would exclaim, "What was that, a burp? Oh, COME on. Nobody cares!" And then she would rip out a juicy one. Things would go south from there, as Calvin and Michael and Marie would attempt to out-belch each other.
It was difficult, at first, to be the only person concerned with manners at the table. It seemed like every night was reduced to belching contests and the discussion of bodily functions. The more I protested, the more they thought it was funny, and so I gave up manners as a lost cause.
They still made fun of my determination to remain cultured, though. So, I began practicing in private. A couple of gulps of warm Pepsi and some deep breaths, followed by some weak sauce. Then, the sauce got progressively stronger. Until I felt ready to release my talents onto my family.
I've done it, maybe, a half-dozen times. Each time when they would least suspect it. And it causes them to stare at me as if they've never seen me before. Marie is always impressed; Calvin is always disgusted.
Today, I made us some lunch, and when I was finished I fed my leftover crackers to the dogs.
"Chicken in a Biscuit! Is it chicken, or is it a biscuit? The world may never know," I goofed around as I teased Gypsy with a cracker.
"Let's not get carried away," Calvin snarked from the couch.
So, as I opened the closet door and threw away my paper plate, I gulped some air and let out a fair ripper (mmm... beer...) that echoed a bit (hooray for tile) and added to the overall effect. I peeked around the closet door and grinned at Calvin.
"Good God, Laura, that's gross. Girls aren't supposed to do that."
"Oh, so, what," I responded, "when you do it, you're an artiste?"
"Well, yeah!"
It was difficult, at first, to be the only person concerned with manners at the table. It seemed like every night was reduced to belching contests and the discussion of bodily functions. The more I protested, the more they thought it was funny, and so I gave up manners as a lost cause.
They still made fun of my determination to remain cultured, though. So, I began practicing in private. A couple of gulps of warm Pepsi and some deep breaths, followed by some weak sauce. Then, the sauce got progressively stronger. Until I felt ready to release my talents onto my family.
I've done it, maybe, a half-dozen times. Each time when they would least suspect it. And it causes them to stare at me as if they've never seen me before. Marie is always impressed; Calvin is always disgusted.
Today, I made us some lunch, and when I was finished I fed my leftover crackers to the dogs.
"Chicken in a Biscuit! Is it chicken, or is it a biscuit? The world may never know," I goofed around as I teased Gypsy with a cracker.
"Let's not get carried away," Calvin snarked from the couch.
So, as I opened the closet door and threw away my paper plate, I gulped some air and let out a fair ripper (mmm... beer...) that echoed a bit (hooray for tile) and added to the overall effect. I peeked around the closet door and grinned at Calvin.
"Good God, Laura, that's gross. Girls aren't supposed to do that."
"Oh, so, what," I responded, "when you do it, you're an artiste?"
"Well, yeah!"
Ms. I Can Rattle Windows When I Belch...er...Jina, would be proud of you sweetheart!
Posted by
Heather |
2:42 PM