Excuse Me, But This is a Gas!

Bacon, Jr., one of the boys' two pigs, a future source of gas.

I read recently that the Southeastern African country of Malawi is looking to outlaw passing gas in public. How such a ban could be enforced is my first question. My second question (well, a series of questions, really): is this the country's biggest problem? This is what its government is working on? Not that we Americans don't have a few silly laws on the books, too, but, really?

In any case, it's a good thing my boys don't live in Malawi.

Mothering three boys has meant an extreme lowering of my standards in many areas. I've mentioned bathroom sanitation before in this space, but I'll say it again. The boys' shared toilet requires a hazmat suit to clean. The KBB (Karen Before Boys) would never have tolerated that level of filth.

Weekly manicures went the way of the daily newspaper. I mean, what is the point of trying? (Clearly newspaper publishers feel the same way.)

And, of course, I have to admit that poop, fart and butt jokes sometimes actually make me smile, albeit under my stern, scolding face.

The best I can hope for when it comes to my boys' passing of the gas is that they say "excuse me" when it occurs. That is, of course, after they explain what it is they just "said" with their farts and burps. Yep, that's the latest, greatest trick around here -- forming words with their expressed gas.

Like I said, my standards are reaching new lows.

Excuse me.