Sadly, no captured moments of fowl, foliage, toilet holes, or transgendered one year olds to display and converse about today. My disabling fear of boring my cyberspace pals has recently prevented me from writing about the mundane activities in my life. I've been mulling over different ideas to discuss. Should I post a how-to on curling your eyelashes without a mirror while operating a moving car? A product review? How my son is as destructive as a Labrador retriever's tail?
Farts are my topic of the day. The act itself is not the main event. It's the word, that dreadful word, that causes my family to squirm and writhe with despair. No member of my family (on my mother's side) uses the F word, nor some other choice words, for which you will be gifted a lengthy explanation. So please, if you are ever bestowed the dubious honor of attending a Killingsworth/Paresi bbq, keep in mind the following words are off limit and have been since the days of yesteryear:
#1 FART - It's funny how capitalization notches up it's funny factor. In my family, the word fart is simply not in our vocabulary. It's neither a word, subject, or action. Farting is something that takes place in other families, so essentially, it's a non-issue in ours. Occasionally, there is an errant fart that occurs, but it is undeniably traced back to the misbehaving non-family individual in attendance. Not to worry; each of us has been trained since birth as to how to handle such an occasion. We expect that you, as the farter, are to act as if nothing took place, and should make no sudden movement that acknowledges in the slightest that you are aware of the sinful deed you committed. I, as a Killingsworth/Paresi decedent, will simply ignore the act and breezily announce a purpose for me to escape to another room where I will collect my bearings and pray for your forgiveness. But, again, farting is a non-issue because we simply don't do it, nor do we associate with or invite potential farters to our soirées. We may die of colon cancer due to lack of intestinal clearing, but our dignity will remain intact. Clint's totally convinced I've done it, but sadly, it was probably him again.
#2 Boobs, Mamba Jambas, Tittlywinks, etc - I'm a progeny of an all female family, which consists of a matriarchal grandmother whose offspring consists of 4 daughters and in turn, their offspring consists of 3 more daughters (myself included). We are exceptionally feminist women who take offense to disparaging remarks about women and womanly body parts. This being said, while stepping off my soapbox, I sometimes say boobs 'cause it's funny. But, when speaking of women's appendages or otherwise, the proper name should always be used.
#3 Pop (for soda) - My family hails from CT, or Back East as we like to say because it sounds fancier. After uprooting and moving to Arizona, they found that pop is surprisingly accepted as a means of saying the word soda. Oh nay nay said the Killingsworth/Paresi clan. I guess in CT, only fancy words are used to communicate. Like, and I swear my mother used this word today in a very casual conversation we had on the phone: acquiesce. Acqui-what? In the context of our conversation, I knew what she meant, but had she just blurted out the word on it's own, I would have asked her to dumb down her vocabulary for me. Those Back Eastern'ers show'nuf do use some'ins fancy word'is'is.
#4 Butt - Bum or bottom is acceptable. Butt is a four letter word. Amazingly all the other four letter words are tolerable...... except for fart or course.
#5 Mom - Do you know how ridiculous I sounded as a 10 year old calling my mom Mother? Please narrate in an English accent, "Mother, please pass the Top Ramen" or "Mother, may I please have some money for a Debbie Gibson tape for my cassette player?" I was expected to call all of my Mother's sisters by Aunt (insert name). Never was their first name to be used alone or, jeepers me, Ant. We are not mainstream and we don't conform to standard labels. My grandmother is not Grandma, she is Nona (Italian for Grandmother), and my own mother suggested my children call her Grand Marnier (look it up) because the loathsome idea of being called Grandma sent her running towards a mid life crisis. Her name is Cheryl, so Cher Cher is her official, more suitable, title. It is an old nickname she went by growing up. And yes, I still call her mother, except when she tells me she can't babysit. Then I tell her she's a crappy farter mom with big boobs who likes to sit on her butt all day and drink pop while spending time with her chickens instead of watching my sexually confused boy who thinks he's a dog.
In closing, I adore my family. They each had an important role in raising me to be the weirdo I am today.