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LuLu's Land of the Fey

All the news that bores the pants off anyone who cares.

Friday, August 01, 2003

My Father's Daughter

So I'm at SuperTarget yesterday in Shreveport with my friend Tonia and her baby girl, Sarah. We had been over to visit the hospital at which Tonia and the baby had spent three months last year when Sarah was born three months early. The nurses oooohed and aaaahhed over her, quite justifiably, as she was born weighing not quite two pounds.

Incidentally, if you ever have the experience of visiting a mother and her extremely premature baby at the hospital, you should be prepared for all kinds of horrific tubes and needles inserted into all kinds of places on the baby. In addition, the baby will probably be tiny, and perhaps a bit hairy on her arms and legs, not to mention a bit wrinkly. In all, seeing Sarah was one of the scariest things I have ever seen; I can only imagine how terrifying it must have been for Tonia and her husband, Joe.

But I digress. We had been to the hospital to show the doctors and nurses how much Sarah had grown and how beautiful she is. Afterwards, we went to this restaurant, The Blind Tiger, down on the Red River and had an awesome lunch of Creole Pecan Catfish and garlic mashed potatoes. The food was heavenly, but, alas, was not quite on my low-carb diet. Those of you who low-carb know that to get "off diet" isn't a sin, per se, but you will definitly feel the results of your binging.

So we're walking around in Target after eating, trying to find some contact paper for my new house, as Walmart just didn't have any that appealed to me. We've been there, at this point, for at least thirty minutes, probaby closer to an hour. I am starting to feel the bloat that accompanies any self-respecting carb binge, and I'm getting a little bit gassy, as is my curse. I feel the need to fart coming on, but I don't want to let rip around Tonia and her baby--I try to keep at least a semblance of couth around most of my friends--so I head over to the next aisle and say I'm going to look at the stuff "over there." Tonia says that's cool with her and that she and the baby will be looking at dish towels on the next aisle. [For all I know, Tonia could have been doing the same thing I was doing, only she was subjecting her poor daughter to it as well.]

Anyway, I head over to the unoccupied aisle and proceed to quietly let rip with a really nasty, greasy, oily fart. In my family, the men are usually the ones who are able to clear rooms, but I sometimes like to pride myself on the fact that this time, the gene went to a woman.

So I void myself of all gasses and start heading out of the aisle, all the while looking around innocently and demurely. While I'm heading off the aisle, a woman and her little girl begin to head onto it. The little girl, who couldn't have been more than two years old, was adorable in pink, ribbons, lace, all that girly stuff that people gush over and compare to sugar and spice, and was being pushed in a stroller by her mom who looked about as stylish as someone in Shreveport can possibly muster. I considered warning them about the impending danger, but decided at the last second not to.

As I rounded the corner, the mother got a look of confusion and disgust on her face. The little girl started to cry.

I've never been more proud of myself in my whole life.

.: posted by amy 11:26 PM