Take two – tales of the fart kind

Ok, so upon a second reading of my last post I decided it was boring. So, since I'm stuck inside on account of my allergies being recalcitrant turds, I thought I might try again with something slightly less self-centred.

So, without further ado, here is the tale of the time I farted at my sister Michi.

When we were young, our Dad used to fart a lot. Actually, he farted a lot regardless of our ages. He would do things like fart as he was walking – tilted up on one leg to facilitate easy release of said fart. Or tip onto one cheek whilst sitting. Or say 'ooh, can anyone smell hot chips?' and laugh when we took in a big voluntary whiff. Needless to say, I was not fond of this habit and I used to complain that it was unfair that we had to smell the air from his bowel (yes, I actually said that).

So, whenever I had to fart (rare, in those days, not so rare now) I would hide it from my Dad, lest he get on a high horse and proclaim that it was ok for him to do it, cos I did it too.

Pause there – skip to the other side of the story. When Michi was a kid, she often used to crack it with a family member, or several. Her way of letting us know that she was mad was to sit in the lounge room in the dark, fuming. What she didn't know was that none of us gave a shit. She'd just sit in there and stew, until she got bored or Mum called her to do something.

Back on track. One night I was descending the stairs when I realised I had a monster brewing. I reached the bottom step, walked down the hall, passed the lounge room and saw Dad in the kitchen. I realised I had to hide my impending fart. I still don't know why I did it this way, but I stopped and backed in to the lounge room. I bent over, propped myself up with my hands on my thighs, took a deep breath and ledderrip. No joke, I even went 'aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh' as I did it.

...You know sometimes when someone's staring at your back and you didn't know they were there but you can, like, feel their stare? Yeah well that happened to me at that moment. Still bent at the waist, I turned my head and there was Michi, directly behind me, sitting on the couch, arms folded, seething with anger, shaking slightly.

She dobbed, but Dad was too busy cracking up to care. Even after years had passed, he would giggle at the thought of Michi, sitting there, thinking that I was purposely farting at her to rub it in her face that nobody cared about her little spat.

Ok, so also a quick Zine update: We're done! Look out for it in the Zine shop (Format) – 15 Peel St Adelaide, it's called Hair Pie DIY, the first episode is free so check it out! We're really wanting feedback!

Last night we were talking about how we're taking a censored version to Egypt and were talking about what we would censor and Kat said 'just write about hummus and Pyramids and shit'. This is why I love her, always with the solutions.

Sweet!

Tx