Or what you may really not wish to know about me…
I found a writing suggestion in my email today from some site I signed up with before I had no time to myself. It suggested I tell the world five things I’m good at. And since I was in my office at a time I didn’t want to be, I was feeling particularly snarky. Not sharky, though, really, even though I’m sometimes called a “land shark” I’m really a dolphin… dolphins kill sharks.
Farting. I fart really well. In fact, after eating refried beans, I may be able to hold my own in a dog fart contest. Only I am not known for the Silent But Deadly form perfected by pooches. No, when it comes to farts mine are more like the Let ‘er Rip and Watch the Paint Peel Off the Walls type. This means I fit in quite nicely with my SIL and grandkids who specialize in various loud body noises.
Belching. I used to be able to participate in the who can belch loudest contests in the family before I had a gastric bypass. Now the champ is either my SIL or oldest granddaughter. These days I have this hic-burp thing that happens now and again that sounds sort of like some guy with a jack hammer. Once I tried putting my hand over my mouth and the air came out my nose and my nose felt like it was quivering like a horse’s flared nostrils. I’m probably lucky my eyes didn’t pop out.
Being a smart-mouth. I corrected an essay where the decedent husband kept arguing various points of law after his demise. I first highlighted the error, then commented he was starting to smell, and by the end of the piece, observed he was rotting and it was time to put him in the coffin. I am the last person you want to tell that you just read the “Comma Sutra” This is a genetic quality common to all members of the Cox clan I hale from.
Humor. I have a wicked sense of humor. No one is safe from it. I serve myself up as easily as anyone else. My humor hero is George Carlin, sans most of the swearing, as humor does not depend upon vulgarisms, damn it! The bad part about combining a smart mouth and humor is that you can end up popping off in front of a judge or someone important and then pray they don’t hear you or think “that nice little old lady couldn’t have said that.” Please do not give me the opening, it’s in my blood and formative training, I will take it.
Cold feet. If you were married to me you’d know the curse of the frozen female feet. My cure? Without a convenient husband to warm them on – or a 3 dog night event when the dog is cowering under my bed hiding from the rolling thunder – I wear thick socks and sometimes woolen slippers to bed lest the foam mattress get so cold it turns into a brick.
That’s it! Now I’m cleansed of all ennui and wait…what’s that smell….