You are not excused
I’ve mentioned my sister.
And I’ve mentioned her penchant for shrieking, I mean laughing.
Now she’s taken it to an all new level.
I am not easily embarrassed, but I almost crawled under a table today. It was just that bad. I slobbered, I spit out spaghetti. It was horrible. *sniffs* I don’t like to talk about it. But I will. For you I will. *gets song stuck in head*
Ok, there is a background story, which I will share with you now, it doesn’t play a huge part in this drama, but it does play an important one.
A year or so ago, my sister and I trekked off to Baltimore for our cousin’s wedding. Her broke foot and all… and my, oh my Celia… I think I just found something else to blog about. Pay back. This time…. It’s for real.
Back to the point.
We had just returned to her apartment after this fun filled trip to find her friend had cooked food. It was cold. But oh well. After dragging up our sixty two bags of Tasty Cakes and Utz potato chips, we settled in to eat our meal. Friend and her guy were on the couch, about to bear witness to this. There was teasing back and forth, and out of nowhere, Celia decides to “act”, oh I am so sure, that she was going to catapult a piece of broccoli *covered in dressing I might add* in my general direction with her fork. Well, this shrapoccoli managed to “accidentally” fly off of her cannon-fork and land smack dab between my eyes. Where it stuck, and then slid down my face leaving a slimy trail of ranch in its wake. I was not amused. My sister burst into her famed fit of laughter, I swear… for at least ten minutes. By that time, I had started to belly laugh too. There’s ranch and broccoli particles on my face, tears streaking down my cheeks, and friend and company are just sitting there staring at us, completely un-amused as Celia tries to explain what had just happened. Fast forward a few hours later, Celia is in the bed, which she is sharing with friend, with company on the floor, so I could have the couch to myself and, in the middle of sleeping, bolts upright and almost SCREAMS the word broccoli, and busts out laughing again.
So we’re in the middle of this extremely quiet restaurant when something reminds us of “The Broccoli Incident” so she’s already in a delicate mental state over that. I’m twirling my spaghetti onto my fork, when I hear a noise… two noises actually, in rapid succession….My God… that man back there really just farted. Loud. Twice. And didn’t even flinch! I knew I had to be careful and not look, or laugh, so Celia wouldn’t either. I tried so hard to let it go. Just let him keep on thinking no one noticed. It was not to be. One look at my astonished face and watching me drop my fork onto my plate, and it was all over. She’s sitting there positively shrieking with laughter…. I’m trying to shush her, I had to give up, I was trying too hard not to laugh myself, so my heads down on the table, and I think my face is about to explode from the pressure, and I’m trying to hide this from everyone. I couldn’t. It was bad. This restaurant is tiny. Romantic almost, meant for whispers and quiet murmurs… and she’s belly laughing, beating her fists onto the table, SNORTING, and I was trying my best to figure out how to make it stop. But it wouldn’t. She almost spit her tea all over me. I did choke on my food, but managed to catch the drool and most of the food with my hand. I was so embarrassed, but I knew crawling under the table would have only made things worse. The only thing that saved me from dying on the spot was the fact the most of the people in the restaurant work with us… and they know.
So… if you ever spot us in a restaurant, please refrain from relieving yourself in any matter in public. I do not want a repeat of this. And people close enough to have heard the body function will know it was you because of us. No one is safe. Run now.