Fart Me Once, Fool on Me

We went to visit Mark (groomsman) and Chris Buehler with the dual purpose of seeing Isabella, their new baby, and asking them to read the passage we had selected for our ceremony. Since they didn’t know about the reading, and we knew about the baby, the baby introductions came first. She was tiny, below Mr. Puddy’s weight class, I imagine. But his dexterity is so advanced that it wouldn’t have been a fair fight were Isabella capable of hand-to-hand combat. She was sleeping on a blanket on the living room floor. It looked like a slightly uncomfortable position, one that you might expect to see when you hire a grizzled old veteran of the pest control industry, who can diagnose your insect problems by simply falling to the floor and listening to termites’ subterranean activity.

I was handed the baby. This caused fear. I’ve never seen one up close, but from a distance, they seem too easily breakable to handle and too wiggly to be safe. Baby and I made our acquaintances, and she gave me a wink and a small grumble, lifted her leg, and ripped a fart. She was in diapers, and I was in shorts, so I didn’t detect transfer. She hammed it up, grimaced, and cracked two more Howitzer shots across my starboard thigh. It was then decided that perhaps an investigation for residue was needed, and I was relieved of my duties. We asked if they would read our selected passage; they agreed to. In retrospect, I realize it may not be unladylike to fart like a Howitzer, but it certainly is ungentlemanly to disclose this information in public.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival