Feeling: gross, to championship-levels
Listening to: The Mountain Goats - Palmcorder Yajna
Reading/Watching: Flipped, by Wendelin Van Draanen (I think)

Mon coeur looked up from his computer, and wrinkled his nose. "Was that you?"

"Do you see more than two people here?" I asked innocently, knowing full well that along with her nose, handwriting and speaking voice, I have inherited my mother's gift for SBD (silent-but-deadly) farts.

With his shirt pulled up over his face, my unfortunate husband mumbled, "At least now you can hold your own with the boys."

I must thereby remind him that I out-burped Ray just a few weeks ago, I can always counter-gross-out Satan with details about our sex life (he usually leaves the room shrieking), and now apparently I have Super Human Flatulence.

I have been holding my own with the boys for a while now.

Wow. I'm reading over this and thinking I'm damn lucky to be married, else God help me if I tried to catch myself a man at this point.

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