mmmmm, chicken enchiladas

About two years ago Jori and I found ourselves explaining to her Chinese postdoc, Bing what fart meant. Jori had another labmate who was prone to southern emissions, and who was not particularly ashamed to let it be known (perhaps because they are in a small room and it is hard to cover such things up). For most of the English lessons we gave Bing we were able to fairly easily explain what a word or grammar structure should be, but with this one he just didn’t seem to get it. After a lot of explanation he finally got it and told us what they call it in Chinese (sorry, I can’t remember it). We of course wanted to see the pinyin (phonetic spelling) in a Chinese dictionary so that we might better understand how to say such a crucial word. As it turns out the translation in the Chinese dictionary was: “to pass wind from bowels”. We all agreed that despite the hilarity, it really did quite adequately define what fart meant.

The reason that I bring this up is that a couple of nights ago at youth group we had chicken enchiladas. Oh, they were soooo good. However, by the end of the night, I was practicing some major butt cheek squeezing exercises. (before any of you might think of turning a “nose” in disgust, I ask if you may also have ever found yourself in such a predicament). Fortunately the night was almost over and it was time to go home. We walked home that night (me about ready to float home), and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I let out a "squeak" and apologized to Jori as I looked behind us to confirm that the closest person was about 200 yards behind us.

Those of you who know me may know that I usually walk pretty quickly, and so does Jori. In fact I almost never am passed by another walker. I’m not really saying this with some sort of pride, but just as a matter of fact for the continuation of this story. I was still as bloated as can be, and had to get it out of my system. Oh what sweet relief. I let out the wind from my bowels. You know, the kind that have a lovely assortment of natural tonal qualities that would set my nephews or niece rolling around on the floor for hours recounting its grandeur. Jori and I of course burst out laughing, at which point Jori looked behind us to see if the man who was 200 yards away might have noticed. Well, as Jori’s continued laugh with disgust indicated to me, he most certainly must have noticed. As it turns out, we had a speedy walker on our heels. This guy in a suit was right behind us—poor fellow. We tried to stop laughing in sympathy for the poor guy, but by this point we had the giggles—the kind you pray you don’t get in Church, and the kind that are virtually impossible to stop. We slowed down at this point to let the guy advance well in front of us. I can only imagine what he told his friends and family later that night.