Relations

I rolled lazily over in bed this morning, looked at my blushing bride and coyly suggested that we engage in some morning “relations”. 

She turned, opened one eye and not so delicately suggested that I go “relations” myself, so off to yoga I went. 

dog-shower-sad-unhappy-fun

This morning was spent with a young and giggly Joanna, informing me to “stay tuned” in order to win my own stretchy Dragon sports bra (seriously, I haven’t grown those yet Joanna) and some yoga pants (maybe I could win two pair? One pair for each leg?), and her two ridiculously flexible friends. 

First of all, don’t make me giggle when you’re having me apply torque to my midsection. All sorts of sounds ensue and my “divine wind” escapes unimpeded into the room, thereby making me giggle some more and the scenario repeats itself ad infinitum until something solid makes its way into the picture. 

Then, it’s no longer funny. 

crapped

As Joanna and friends were telling me how good I was doing in my Sleeping Hound Dog pose, I was busy trying not to wake up the old battle axe (ahem… I mean my blushing bride) with my Thundering Booty pose. 

Unsuccessfully. 

On a particularly trying maneuver (I think it was Sitting Up By Yourself pose) I was suddenly reminded of the delicious burrito dinner I had joyfully sat in front of the evening before,

…and not in a delightful way. 

The sound of roaring top fuel dragsters filled the room and the windows rattled in their frames. 

fart

I had to jump up and steady the television, inducing even more foundation crumbling blats from my weakened fundament and making me giggle uncontrollably. (No, really. I’m like, eleven inside) 

As even more thunderous “applause” appeared from my nether region I began laughing outright. 

fart-minion

My stomach weakened and I bent over at the waist, laughing all the while until…

Suddenly it was no longer funny. 

funny-fart

With that last laugh and in my weakened state, an unwelcome and squishy visitor had made its way into my sweatpants and turned them unbiddingly into sewerpants. 

With a somber look on my face and humiliating giggling still coming from the tv, I turned to go upstairs to remedy my unfortunate situation and…

There in the doorway was my wife. 

angry-wife

Apparently all of the giggling and laughing and windy pants soiling coming from downstairs doesn’t make for a pleasant sleeping environment and the look of abject horror on her face told me that she’d been there for most of the highlights. 

…I wonder if she’s ready for relations now…

before-and-after

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