“How come boys fart more than girls?” Ernie asks me one afternoon while we’re waiting for Theo and Jan to download outside of the Kawaii Cup near my place.
“Girls fart just as much,” I reply. “We only hold them in more often.”
“You can’t hold in a fart.”
“We’re talking toxic, explosive, highly-flammable gasses.” Ernie throws up his arms. “Just because you hold them in doesn’t mean they don’t still go somewhere!”
“Do you want to know where farts go when you hold them in?”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Out another hole,” I say, joking.
Ernie blinks, does a total deadpan. “Are you fucking serious?”
I’m about to tell him no, of course I’m not serious when I feel a stray wisp of hair flutter beside my left ear. I know it’s the breeze, I know it’s mere coincidence, but—
“Did you just fart out of your ear?” Ernie asks incredulously.
I scowl at him. “Yes, Ernie. I’ve been holding in my farts since breakfast, and now they’re starting to seep out through all of my orifices. Happy?”
Ernie studies my ear intently. “Does it hurt?”
“Ew, does it smell?”
I swish my hand above his head. “Sarcasm lost.”
Thanks for reading!