Everyone’s a comedian in this house.
“Sit down, Daddy,” Miss7 giggled up at me.
I’d seen her slip a whoopie cushion onto my chair, so I was prepared for that familiar ‘wet’ sound. Familiar as in the usual wet fart whoopie cushion sound, not familiar as in actual wet farts are a sound we hear a lot around here.
Tracey felt it was important I lied about that.
“Do you smell gas?” I asked my wife who was sitting at her computer next to me.
I plonked down on the seat.
But instead of the usual wet fart sound whoopie cushions produce there was suddenly an explosive bang.
“Jeez!” I squawked, shooting back up and slapping a hand to my crotch quicker than a Michael Jackson dance move.
Miss7, naturally, thought this was hilarious, if a little different to the way this little trick usually plays out, with me making a funny face and asking to be excused.
The thing I really wasn’t prepared for when I sat down was being sack-whacked – it seems my body-weight caused a whoopie cushion blowout.
“That’s some powerful gas you’ve got there, Daddy,” said Tracey. “You nearly took off. You really are the world’s greatest farter.”
Yep, it’s hard to keep a straight face with all these comedians in the house. And loving it.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”