No Farting at Jason's Deli

Last night we met Mr. Yoy for a quick dinner at Jason's Deli.

We grabbed the last of the available booths and settled in for dinner.

The boys were eating and actually behaving.

Mr. Yoy and I were reviewing our days.

I repositioned myself on the booth and my hot skin against the sticky vinyl made that familiar sound.

Big E's eyes opened as wide as saucers.

DADDY!  YOU PASSED GAS!

Big E yelled out for all to hear.

There were two things that prevented this from not being the most embarrassing meal we've had with Big E in his three short years.

1)  He wasn't in possession of a microphone.

2)  Our closest food neighbors were a table or two away.

BIG E, THAT WAS MOMMY'S LEG, NOT DADDY PASSING GAS.

I tried reasoning with him.  That went well.

DADDY!  YOU PASSED GAS!

He announce it again in case anyone missed it.

I tried to make the noise again to prove it was me, but we ALL know that never ever ever works.

So we busted out the birthday cookies for a distraction. That did the job.

On a side note, we are very classy here at the Yoys and we do not call it farting.  Passing gas is way more sophisticated.


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