What difference does it really make?

I drove to Eau Claire last night to have dinner with my parents (because going to the Minnesota State Fair wasn't enough activity for me in one day). While we were at the table, Shirley filled her diaper, which I noticed approximately 60 seconds before my parents.
My mom said, "Erin...do you have really bad gas?"
I said, "Yes."
She said, "Did you just...?"
I said, "NO! It's Shirley's diaper! Jeez!"

WWIII

You know how on tv, in movies or in books, they depict characters vomiting because of some sort of very emotional situation?
They are SO upset so they lose it all over their shoes?
What a load of baloney.
There is no emotional situation that would make me throw up SIX TIMES unless World War III was going on in my bowels.
Like last night.
If I die, please make sure SJ gets my diamond.

Oh, the places you'll go.

Erin: Hey, let's snuggle up and watch a movie.
Rich: OK, but I smell like pickles, beer and doritos. [BELLLLLLLLCH--blow in my face.]
Erin: Gross! You're disgusting! I bet you wouldn't have done that four years ago.
Rich: [Satisfied grin.] Nope.


Five years ago (right before we got engaged), I was eating corn chips* on Richard's couch and I accidentally passed gas in front of him. I cried. Really.

*Corn chips, you ask? Yes. Corn chips. Round ones. Not tostitos. The cheap kind from the store on the corner of Cedar & 63 in Baldwin, WI. I was so traumatized by what happened that the memory is burned onto my brain. I will never forget what happened. (Not that Rich would let me if I tried.)