We had a dinner guest over a few Sunday’s ago. My parish secretary, a lovely, refined, mild-mannered lady in her seventies came to join us for a roast chicken.
All day we had prepared the house for our company. The linens were ironed, the floors steamed, and all the food was bubbling joyfully on the stove. The children were napping, with cute outfits laid out to wear upon waking. Princess had helped wash the windows and set the table. She was quite excited we were having a special guest and knew when she woke up, our company would arrive.
Ms. Night has been working at my church ever since I was in middle school. We never spoke much as she’s a quiet soul, but I was always curious about her. I knew she lived alone and she dressed very conservative always in skirts, with a kerchief on, but never in pants. Now employed by the parish, I came in contact with Ms. Night quite regularly and felt it would be proper to have her over.
And so it was that Ms. Night arrived exactly at 5pm in kerchief & skirt bearing a fruit tray. We welcomed her in and Princess flittered about chattering about one thing or another. After giving her a tour of the house we all sat down to carve the grand roasted chicken. So far, everything was going excellently. While we are never so reserved or proper about our meals, Princess & Chubs were picking up the queues perfectly and the meal began mildly with light conversation and a salad.
I had a Bridget Jones moment of “Sitting at table with guest, am poised, graceful host serving succulent chicken. Talking about how we can aid the crisis in Japan. Am proper, intelligent host. Husband is sounding calm and serious. Children are also waiting calmly for dinner. Mood is Stepford-ish, but good. Certainly guest will be impressed with our family.”
Suddenly, like dying helicopter landing in the middle of a blissfully still meadow, Princess began to pass gas. At the table. At an incredibly audible level and rate of expulsion.
The conversation had come to an abrupt halt to allow time for her roaring symphony she was gracing our dinner table with.
She was seated directly across from the guest of honor.
Guest of honor stared up at Princess.
I was seated directly across from Camera Guy which was not good considering that our eyes both locked and we started twitching simultaneously trying to remain serious.
The concert continued and I began to get worried of two things: loosing my ‘inner poise’ (BJD!) and how long this was going to go on. As if sensing my nervousness, Princess decided to break the ice and herself began to announce to our stunned ears,
“I am farting!” She then grinned incredibly large, glanced from adult to adult and talking louder, continued,
“I love farting!”
My eyes fell onto my salad plate, but when I retrieved them, I darted them over to see how her Father was handling the situation. His head was downcast, hidden in a napkin, pretending he was I don’t know! Mourning the victims of the tsunami or something.
“Perfect.” I thought, all he has to do is look at me and we’ll both loose it. “How am I going to get out of this one? What do I say?”
To make the situation just a little more awkward, our guest was ignoring her shout outs and continued to calmly munch her arugula and baby spinach.
Then, to bring our perfectly insane concert to a climax, Chubs began to chime in. Also at helicopter dying rate, with perfect punctuation and volume.
Princess turned to her brother, excited to be in company with him and decided to narrate the event to us as well,
“Chubs like pooping! Wow Chubbers! That’s a big one!”
Both kids burst out laughing.
Camera Guy and I held our gaze, our mortified, twitching, gaze for about 2 seconds, then at Chubbers next round, we both lost it.
Never in a million years would I ever have imagined that scenario.
Our kids have never, ever done this at the dinner table. Especially together on cue. Which is impressive, but horrible timing.
“I’m so sorry!” I moaned in between my fits of laughter, practically hanging off my chair under the table from sheer hysterics. “I don’t know what to say, this has never happened to us…..”
Luckily, Ms. Night has plenty of nieces and nephews and was able to carry on with us the rest of the evening as if nothing had ever went on. But I’m pretty willing to bet that was the only time she ever witnessed such an event.
When we headed up for the night after our company had left, we burst out laughing again at the thought of what happened. I shook my head.
“Time to review manners with them I guess.”
Camera Guy shook his laughing,
“Time to invest in Beano”.