If you’ve visited this site previously, you know that know that my family endures hysterical scenarios. I would be remiss, if I didn’t share, right?
It seems my father had an incident recently. The parental units took B-I-L #1 and family out for his birthday dinner. A good time was had by all. Fast forward to later that evening.
My father had what he assumed was a minor attack of flatulence. It happens to the best of us. Since he was alone in that part of the house, my mother had long since ascended to her bedroom, he decided to let the gas escape. During mid-release, he realized that air was not the only passenger.
He decided to use his 83 year old body, to “sprint” to his master bath and hopefully make it to the restroom in time. Since my father was never a runner and due to his advanced age and various obstacles such as throw rugs in the foyer en route to the master bath, his race was not too successful.
He managed to hurdle the first throw rug but his slipper got caught on the second rug and down he went. Yes, my father took a header into the door jamb of his bedroom. Sharting himself to oblivion.
After he cleaned himself up, he decided it was a good idea to wake my mother and let her know what happened. I can’t recall what her response was because by that time I was choking on my own sputum from the howls of laughter emanating from my being.
He is quite lucky. His glasses broke and scraped his face, he may have needed stitches but was too stubborn to go and get treated. Thank goodness he didn’t break a hip, undue all that was done during his back surgery or any number of worse things that could have happened.
When I asked him why he didn’t just duck into the powder room that was closest to him during his crisis, he replied “I didn’t want to mess up that bathroom.”
Folks, I wish I could make this stuff up. I may pitch this new slogan to the Lifeline people: “I’ve sharted and I can’t get up!”