The Blame Game

Ok. I've pondered the appropriate-ness (is that a word?) of telling this story, and have decided that it's okay to share with you. It's embarassing. It's humiliating... and I didn't get blamed for any of it... It reminded me of the days when my sisters and I (Pictured here, circa early '70's) used to blame each other for every little thing...

A few weeks ago, my sister and I had a yard sale. I drove over to her house early in the AM, my car laden with all the things I wanted to purge from my life - books, music, knick knacks, memories - you know. Yard Sale. As I was unloading my goods, I found myself alone outside my sister's house... No one around but her dog, Rusty... I really had to purge something more internal... Ok, I'll just say it. I was gassy.

I let one rip. It was not your ordinary fart. Normally, when outside, the gasses leftover from digestion merely dissipate into the atmosphere, killing ozone and making plants work harder. This particular explosion disgusted even me. It was icky. (don't judge me. You've all done it!!!)

Ok. What I wasn't expecting was my sister to come walking around the corner. I didn't know she was there. I silently prayed that the air had cleared... but I knew it didn't.

My sister immediately knew what was going on...

"Rusty! That's disgusting! Kelly! Did you smell his fart? Ew!"

By this time, she was madly batting the atmosphere... Rusty stood there with his doggy look... I don't know if he knew what was going on, but if he did, he wasn't letting on, which is why I like him.

I, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. I was off the hook, and perfectly willing to let old "Silent But Deadly" take the blame...

______

Fast forward a couple of weeks to tonight, where I was having dinner with a friend. I don't know what came over me, but I felt compelled to tell my BlamethedogonmyFart story. He laughed... Then something happened that I wasn't expecting... He told me HIS fart story.

He's a teacher, and needed to expel some fumes. He walked over to close his classroom door, and shot a particularly stinky stinker into the hall. He proceeded to the middle of the room, thinking he'd gotten away with something he shouldn't have. Much to his chagrin, three of his bitchier students, often tardy, ran into the room.

Bitchy Student One: Mister - there's something stinky over here.

Bitchy Student Two: I think you did it. (motioned to student one)

Bitchy Student Three: You smelt it you dealt it!

The three students then started arguing over who indeed, had dealt it. And with no innocent pooch in sight to blame, the argument got pretty sticky.

My friend, the teacher said, "You know, Kelly? Those girls are always late, and always full of excuses. I was so happy to let them think that one of them did it!."

You know - what kind of person am I - that I don't even have a good excuse for letting my sister's dog take the blame for this heinous exhibition?