Smell Ya Later

Mother hen called today and told me to stop being such a lazy mazy at blog writing. She said she didn't give a peacock's tail feather about my latest photography ventures and that I better string together some coherent sentences or else... My mom is my unofficial blog editor you see. I guess it's just as well that the woman who birthed me should be editing my 26-year-old grammar. Luckily, she saves me from all sorts of writing embarrassments.

Embarrassments.

When I was a thirteen-year-old mutant I thought I had it all figured out. The key to preventing public humiliation was laying low, never admitting to anything, and avoiding the limelight as much as possible. When I clumsily tipped over in my seventh grade chair and fell like a frantic lizard on the crusty carpet, I quickly got up and pretended to be looking for something inside of my cave desk (my version of laying low). I tried to blend in with the crowd and not let anyone in on my quirks, mistakes, and smells.

But time is a wonderful mechanism for changing perspectives and making us a little less self conscious. While teaching a room full of teenage mutants the other day, a choking stench filled the room. It was the kind of fart smell that you find in your brother's room and the breed that's accompanied by coughing and gasping. Of course my students immediately scrunched their noses and started looking around the room for the stink bomb dropper. In a matter of seconds the identity of the culprit was obvious as one boy in particular sat with his head on his elbows, staring at his desk. The kids figured out who it was and started shouting, "It was Josh! It was Josh!" My heart started racing as I saw his poor embarrassed face turn from red to purple.

And suddenly I blurted "It was me, you guys." Silence vacuumed the air out of the room. "I have a little bit of a gas problem lately. Sorry about that. Whew! That was a stinky one!" The boys in the room smirked and looked at each other and said, "Oh my gosh! I can't believe Sister Willis just farted." And then we just moved on learning about the ten commandments or something...

Josh looked up at me and smiled and gave a sigh of relief.

And that's when I knew I was an old lady. An old lady that doesn't give a damn what a bunch of teenage boys think. An old lady that is learning to recognize when a young one's feelings are in danger and come to the rescue with nurturing life vests. Man I love these kids.