I live with three men (two under the age of eight and one who should be old enough to know better), but for some reason if anyone cuts the cheese all decorum is lost. Even the stink-eye from mommy can’t bring them back from the brink.
Taco and chili nights are the best gas-producing dinners (unfortunately meals that I don’t have to threaten or bribe them to eat.) And now that we’ve entered into spring, the produce section is teeming with the green leafy veggies, those toot-fueling monsters. I admonish, “eat your greens,” but with my trepidation knowing what vapors lurk in their little bowels yearning to break free.
The only thing funnier than a fooster from my boys would be one from me.
High fives all around.