There are some moments in life that you just have to laugh about. Last night, we experienced one of those moments and it was too good not to share. There were no innocent parties, and so no names have been changed.
Mr. Taleteller has a habit of blaming the dog in jest when he experiences a bout of flatulence. Anyone who knows him or has spent much time in his company knows that when he cuts the cheese, there is no doubt who did it. Let’s just say that he’s loud and proud.
We were at a cookout yesterday afternoon, and that means a bit of extra indulgence in some favorite foods. When we got home, there was an “incident” that made me ask him if he’d ripped his pants, hurt himself or needed to change clothes Through tears of laughter, he said, “I swear, it wasn’t me! It was Bunny!” I’ll leave you to guess who gave him the stink eye from the couch. There was a little hound who most definitely was not amused.
Later, we were enjoying watching some television together and Mr. Taleteller had Morgan on her leash beside him while Bunny and Flattery lounged on the couch and princess bed. Everybody was happy and relaxed, even Morgan. As he sat on the floor, my husband announced, “I don’t know who, but one of you farted!”
I kid you not, all three of the girls turned at the same time and checked their own backsides. After a sniff, all three, still in unison, turned and glared at my husband. The message was clear, none of the girls were taking credit for the stink bomb. Their comical expressions had both of us laughing. I have no idea who actually let one rip, but it doesn’t matter. For all I know, it was my husband again. What I do know is that apparently no one likes being blamed for the deed.