Sunday, March 7, 2010

Let 'Er Rip!

Last night I was dreaming in spanish again. I wasn’t singing this time

(Did the music work?  I've been haunted by this stupid player. Some might even say obsessed.   Pleeeez say it worked.)

but somebody was babbling away to me in spanish and I understood every word they said.  I don’t remember every detail of the conversation, but I suspect that it went something like this (in spanish, of course): Wake up! Wake up! Someone is trying to kill you. There are gases pouring into your bedroom. You must open your eyes before the tears pouring out of them blind you and you can’t find your way out of the house. Save yourself, Senora. Quickly! Wake up! I woke up, took a deep breath … gagged. Within seconds I knew that smell. Shadow! Not again. Jeez. Recently she has become a factory of eye-watering, nostril-pinching, gag-reflexing odors. I am married to a man. I have experience with flatulence. But the stench produced when Shadow cuts the cheese is indescribable.
Don't let that innocent look fool you.  Evil gases lurk within.

Once I could breathe again I argued with myself over the next step. Should I make myself crawl out of my warm bed, walk the six feet over to where Shadow is tooting peacefully in her bed, wake her up, explain to her that she is killing me, grab and pull her stinky body out of her bed, place myself in the danger zone and push her out of the bedroom? Or should I stay in bed and hope there would be no more gifts from her for the remainder of night? It was the middle of the night and I am “of an age” which means the window was open so the room was cold. And as it happened, Shadow’s stink bomb occurred at one of the rare moments when I was actually enjoying the feeling of a warm blanket on my body. I stayed in bed.

Shortly after, I regretted that decision. I had barely begun drifting off to the land of Nod when I heard "pppppppfffffffffffftttttttttttttttttt.” At least I had a warning that time. I quickly squeezed my eyes tight, pulled the sheet and blanket over my face and held my breath. I checked the air after about 20 seconds only to discover it was still filled with noxious fumes. I told myself if it happened one more time I was leaving the bedroom and spending the rest of the night on the couch. Sure enough, it wasn’t three minutes later and I once again heard, “ppppppppppppfffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt." That dog cut the cheese three times in fewer than five minutes.  The air was hazy with deadly gases.  I looked over at Dean who was completely oblivious to the fact that our bedroom smelled worse than ... I don't know.... I honestly can't think of anything worse.  He was peacefully in dreamland, happily making little puffing noises and totally unaware that one spark from static electricity could cause our room to burst into flames.

I am ashamed to say that I did not crawl out of my nice warm bed and head for the couch. Nor did I grab Shadow’s bed and drag her out of my bedroom.  I was just too lazy to put forth the effort. It’s a sad thing to admit you are a person who would prefer to breathe in toxic fumes rather than get out of bed in the middle of the night and deal with a health risk.  Either I finally just went to sleep and somehow managed to live through the additional gaseous fumes filling up our bedroom or Shadow’s body had reached its maximum production. Either way, we all woke up alive with no apparent side effects.  And one of us didn't even know their lungs were at risk.◦


Art Elser said...

It works. I'm listening to it as I write this.

Que un perro! Un perro de hedors, mal hedors!

I've had experiences living with a woman of "that age" who has had the window open on nights when it was significantly below zero, so I understand the need to get out of bed to fix something, but the fear of death if I did. :-)

Shadow has a grizzled muzzle similar to that guy in bed with you. You didn't blame Shadow unfairly, did you?

Cathy, what a wonderful sense of humor. I look forward to each entry in your blog.

Deb said...

Cathy - we have some awesome masks for keeping noxious fumes out - Gordon uses them for when he is sanding or finishing a project. Would you like me to send you some. A friend of ours in CO has basset hounds - that are called - lovingly - burping, snorting, drooling, fart makers.... Oh how true...

Al said...

That's a heck of a guilty look on Shadow's face. Or is that the, "Don't blame me. Dad's the one that feeds me whatever it is that's causing the environmental disaster" look?

Leslie said...

Just keep her away from the kids tonight or they may never want to come back. :)

Amber said...

At least you're to the point where you can distinguish between Shadow's farts and Dean's. I'm not quite to that point in my relationship with Justin and Stitch! I just blame it on Justin :)

Cathy said...

Amber, distinguishing farts is a finely-tuned skill developed only after years and years and years and years and years of married life. However, until you have attained that level of prowess yourself, just practice a look of offended revulsion and blame everything on Justin. That will be more fun anyway.

Lesley Collins said...

Shadow looks innocent to me too.

Art Elser said...

Suspicions confirmed. Wives just blame everything that goes wrong on the husband until he is proved innocent--which, of course, almost never happens. The verdict comes in, the jury goes on about other business, and the husband never gets acquitted. :-)