Buffalo Gal

Of the dozens of bizarre things that have appeared in this space, I made it through the entire first year without a reference to flatulence.
For anyone expecting high-minded discourse, I feel it only fair to warn you. This will be the second fart blog this month.
My brother is not a soft and squishy guy. Beer commercials and Caddyshack are his idea of fine art. But, he's the guy you'd call if you only had one call.
He loves his wife. He loves his kids. He loves his dog and his Chicago Bears, but he's not going to get overly sentimental about any of it to anyone else.
He opened his home to me for the first month I was here and managed to act like it was no big deal the entire time.
He's supporting the move here, he says, because he wants my husband in the monthly poker game. And getting Charlie out on the golf course more than a couple times a summer will be good too. It's all about his amusement, right.
It was, of course, his wife who invited me over after work tonight. With my brother's work travel schedule , I did not expect him to walk in the door with the pizza.
We talked about the news, my job, family happenings... how much he's looking forward to Charlie visiting next weekend. The kids hugged me , the dog slobbered on me and the cat offered me to the opportunity to share my dinner. I had a solid family fix and needed to head back early while the weather was good.
There was no mistaking the smell wafting across the kitchen as I put on my coat. As the girls came downstairs to say goodbye they wrinkled their nose and said "Dad!!!"
"Hey," he said with a shrug. "It's not like yours smell like roses."
And on those parting words I bid adieu.
A few miles away a familiar, but vile, miasma crept over the car. I stared back in the rearview mirror at the obvious earlier offender.
Sure, he doesn't talk much about it.
But my brother loves me.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (2) Share on Facebook		2005-01-26 9:42 PM Taking one for the team Of the dozens of bizarre things that have appeared in this space, I made it through the entire first year without a reference to flatulence. For anyone expecting high-minded discourse, I feel it only fair to warn you. This will be the second fart blog this month. My brother is not a soft and squishy guy. Beer commercials and Caddyshack are his idea of fine art. But, he's the guy you'd call if you only had one call. He loves his wife. He loves his kids. He loves his dog and his Chicago Bears, but he's not going to get overly sentimental about any of it to anyone else. He opened his home to me for the first month I was here and managed to act like it was no big deal the entire time. He's supporting the move here, he says, because he wants my husband in the monthly poker game. And getting Charlie out on the golf course more than a couple times a summer will be good too. It's all about his amusement, right. It was, of course, his wife who invited me over after work tonight. With my brother's work travel schedule , I did not expect him to walk in the door with the pizza. We talked about the news, my job, family happenings... how much he's looking forward to Charlie visiting next weekend. The kids hugged me , the dog slobbered on me and the cat offered me to the opportunity to share my dinner. I had a solid family fix and needed to head back early while the weather was good. There was no mistaking the smell wafting across the kitchen as I put on my coat. As the girls came downstairs to say goodbye they wrinkled their nose and said "Dad!!!" "Hey," he said with a shrug. "It's not like yours smell like roses." And on those parting words I bid adieu. A few miles away a familiar, but vile, miasma crept over the car. I stared back in the rearview mirror at the obvious earlier offender. Sure, he doesn't talk much about it. But my brother loves me. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (2) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top