Tell Tale Fart

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• August 14, 2020

I was very nervous. I don’t know what made me do it. It was the man’s eye. When my mother and I walked into the store, the man that greeted us had a terrible eye that was a yellowish-white. And he wasn’t friendly. Not friendly at all. Most times, when you walk into a store, you are greeted with a smile. A “how are you doing today?” or a “Can I help you find something.” But not this man, no. He snarled at my mother and I.

My Mother had been dragging me around all day. I was being good. In this store, they had a whoopie coushion. But not your average whoopie coushion. This one you didn’t have to refill yourself with air. It filled itself, with some sort of sponge action. I dreamed of all the hilarious fart pranks I could pull
with such a thing. So I asked my mother is she would buy it for me and she said, “absolutely not.” Even after I’ve been such a good boy? Well, I really wanted that whoopie coushion. I made up my mind. So, when no one was looking, I put it under my shirt. Now this the point.

You fancy me mad. Mad men know nothing.

But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded. It was clear I was going to get away with it. Not even my mother had suspected it. But as we left the store, the man with the one bad eye seemed to stare at me, knowing the truth. Not his good eye, no. His bad eye. The blind yellowish one. It looked right at me. If you still think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the whoopie coushion. It had to be hidden the whole weekend, until the week when I could bring it to school and plant it under teachers seats. Oh, the joy it will bring all my fellow classmates!

We’ll laugh and laugh, when the teacher’s every sit is followed by a fart. But my Mother must not know. She must never find out I stole something. I would be punished for the remainder of my childhood. In my room, I looked around, thinking of the best hiding spots. She knew my hiding spots well, my mother. She knew them all, that sneaky woman. Except for one. There was one she did not know. There were some loose floor boards. With little effort, I could lift them up, place the whoopie coushion under there, and replace the boards.

It was perfect. You could never tell. My mother came to my room, “Dinner is almost ready,” she said.
“Okay!”
“Is everything okay?”
Oh no. She knew. But how could she?That’s when I heard it.The farting. From the whoopie coushion.”Do you hear that?” I asked.
“What?” My mother said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure, I’ll be down for dinner in just a moment.” I joined my parents for dinner. After some questions about my behavior, they were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. We chatted about usually family dinner things. School and worked.

But as time passed, I felt myself grow pale and wished they weren’t here. They continued to chat, while other noises filled my head. The noise increased. I started to talk louder. The noise grew louder and louder. Could my parents not hear it? I couldn’t take it. I got up. My parents continued to talk and to laugh. Did they not hear it? Did they know? The fart noise.

It would not stop. Farting, and farting, and farting. I could not take it any more.

“Villians,” I shrieked, “I admit! Tear up the planks here! It is the farting of the hideous whoopie coushion!”