Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Word of the day: tease
For some reason, I tend to get picked on a little bit. Or a lot. Whatever. I somehow have this aura about me that says, "Please, PLEASE, PUH-LEASE make fun of me for SOMETHING!" For the most part, it doesn't bother me because of that wonderful old adage that tells me that people don't pick on people they don't like. That is either true and I have a ton of friends, or it is false and somebody lied to me when I was little.
Of course, there are days when I bring it upon myself by sharing things that I should, perhaps, keep to myself. Like today, when I shared the story of my exploded pants. Several months ago I came home from work one evening and changed out of my work clothes, only to discover that the rear seam of my pants had virtually exploded and there was a fist-sized hole in the seat of them for all the world to see. Praise be to the good Lord above, I had worn a long sweater that day that covered the ripped seam (and perhaps eliminated any drafts that would have alerted me to its presence). Off to Granny went the pants, because Granny is a sewing phenomenon, and she fixed them up as good as new. Today was the first day I wore them again.
When I got to work today, I told the hole story (get it? get it?!). My wonderful co-workers laughed at me as I told it, and it was funny for a few minutes, and then it was back to business as usual...until I sat down, and felt several stitches give. This was unnerving. Fortunately, Granny's handy work didn't let me down, so no one really got to pick on me about it too much. My boots, however, gave my friend Leah all the fodder she needed for a good razzing.
We were in the break room chatting when I mindlessly scuffed the heel of my boot across the tile floor, and that's when it happened - my traitor footwear let loose with an incredibly loud and flatulent-sounding noise. The look of incredulousness on Leah's face was most likely mirrored by my own look of disbelief and immediate disowning of the sound, but it didn't matter...we both turned into 4th graders and laughed until we cried.
We probably lost a good solid 10 minutes (OF OUR BREAK) in that break room to uncontrollable giggling. When she could finally make coherent sentences again she asked me if I was going to run away, which alludes to the picture attached to this blog that I just happened to find yesterday in my daily perusal of www.engrishfunny.failblog.org. The note, penned by an obviously outraged child accused of breaking wind, seems to suggest an interesting course of action for such incidents of false flatulent accusations, and it was just too perfect for this situation for me not to share.
Have a good one, folks. Carl "Little Caesar" McWeeney OUT.
Posted by Carri at 8:22 PM