Farting Bears

For a couple of weeks now, I've occasionally heard Dad mention to Mom, "Hey, order my farting bear!!"

I know my family isn't the only family that loves flatulence humor, but we have to rank in the Top 10 for how far we take it. Well, how far Dad takes it. I'm pretty sure there's a Farting Santa somewhere in all the Christmas decorations.

Anyway, when I got home from work today, Mom and Dad were in their recliners. I waltzed into the living room to chat with them, and noticed a teddy bear on the table. "How cute," I said, picking it up. Then I noticed the box embedded in its teddy bear tummy. "Oh, good grief. Is this your farting bear?"

Dad grinned at me as I squeezed the bear's tummy and listened to it emit farting sounds. I don't know exactly why he feels he needs a flatulent teddy bear, but hey, I carry a lucky rubber duck in my purse. Who am I to judge?

All of this back story arrives at a punch line.

A few minutes ago, I wandered out to the living room, and noticed the farting bear sitting cheerfully on the table between Mom and Dad's chairs. Mom had a cat on her lap and a cat on the back of her chair, behind her head, and I grinned as I walked in. "You're surrounded by cats, and farting bears!"

I also happened to point two fingers--one at the bear, one at my father--as I said this.

Mom and I erupted into laughter at this. Dad, trying to watch his favorite evening news show, gave me a serious case of side-eye.

"Go to your room."

And that, my friends, is life in this family.