Guest Blog!

As the title would suggest, here is a guest blog. I can't draw any more of my crappy drawings until I get a mouse, since my track pad is so badly worn down. Sooo, enjoy this blog until I can get off my lazy butt and get a mouse.

Untitled Blog by coffee_bean89

THE END!

Overprotective Mother Series: Part 2

My mother has a very strong opinion about normal bodily function, and by opinion I mean she absolutely loathed them. She believed that women and children should never burp, fart or yawn publicly, not even in the comfort of one’s own home. Even silent farts were not acceptable. She enforced her “No bodily functions” rule by example and with an iron fist. Her zero tolerance policy was often unbearable. Holding in a burp or a fart seemed impossible most of the time, and was almost always painful. 

Her punishments for disobeying the rule never seemed to fit the crime, either. She would stare you down with eyes of fury and disappointment if she even suspected you had gas to relieve, and if she heard or smelt anything, I'd be immediately banished to my bedroom.

Once, I made the mistake of yawning at the dinner table. It had been a long day at school and I was very tired. It did not go unnoticed, like I had hoped. Mid yawn, when I realized what I was doing right in front of my mother, I tried to pretend like it wasn’t a yawn. 

After years of enduring her needless exercise of authority, I had come up with a plan that kept me out of trouble, but also left me a little unstable.

One seemingly normal day, while casually watching TV, I heard a noise that I had never heard before. It caught me by surprise, but the source of the noise was unmistakable. My mother – the gas nazi – had farted.

I didn’t know how to react. My mother’s face was painted with shock and embarrassment. I didn’t know if I should pretend like I didn’t notice, or if I should say something. While I was trying to figure out what to do, I had been gawking, mouth agape, at my mother. She was staring back at me, of course, which eliminated my ability to pretend like I didn’t notice. After several minutes of awkward silence, my mother yelled at me.

 I should have known. Even in the face of obvious guilt, my mother would blame me for her farts. I became the proverbial dog.

I retreated to my bedroom, and locked the door. I crawled into my dark cave of shame and unearthed my only friends.