Pooty-poot

There are certain times – and they don’t come around all that often – when a guy can show off his more disgusting – yet amazing – "talents."
My wife was on the couch – breathlessly awaiting the debut of Grey’s Anatomy and a new season of “Dr. McDreamy” – when I came in and rested my head on her hip. We started talking, then we started kidding each other.
“Better watch it, or I’m going to fart on you,” she said.
My head was still resting on her hip, as she laid on her side.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She made like she was going to let one go, and laughed. She couldn’t do it.
“Can you fart on command?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“OK, do it.”
And I let one go. Two, actually; one tiny poot and a pretty good squeakier.
“You just didn’t do that!” she said, laughing, as my daughter roller her eyes (she knows of my gaseous abilities). “How can guys fart on command?”
“You don’t know,” I said. “And I’m not telling.”
“Can you do it again?”
“Sure, but I don’t want to. I have no need, and I have tired of this conversation.”
And I walked out to get a bottle of water.
Honestly, I don’t know if I could have squeezed another one out or not. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
When being disgustingly brilliant, it’s best not to flaunt it – or fail trying to show off.