Duck

MoMo asked me to write a blog about mean people with gas. I didn’t ask why. I assume she has a good story of her own to tell. Since gas was involved, she probably thought of me. I’m sure Moi is already cringing.

I have a client with IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome for the uninformed. She is not mean. But the twelve year old in me often has to stifle the giggles when ducks join our meetings.

I was looking up shots to consider serving at the New Years Eve party. There is a Duck Fart of an entirely different kind. It is Jack Daniels, Amaretto and Baileys poured in that order to create layers. The only duck fart I’ve had is the kind like in meetings with my IBS afflicted client.

My kids like to play duck duck goose. And they like to fart. My kids; not the duck and goose. And sometimes they are mean to each other. Again, my kids, not the duck and goose. Sometimes when my kids fart, I’ll exaggerate the affects of the stink and pretend like they made me pass out. At which point, they like to hover over me and sing “Shake my booty,” while they wiggle their tiny butts over my head.

A lot of girls claim they don’t fart. Of course they do, but I have to admit that gals do a good job of refraining and/or finding privacy to let ‘em rip. My father in-law told me a story about a filling station near his old army base that was owned and operated by all women. Clearly these women had lots of gas. They didn’t sound mean though. In fact, they did quite well being located so close to the base. The FIL apparently pawned his watch at the all gals gas station to get cash to visit his girlfriend. Which is now his wife and my MIL.

The FIL was in the army in the late sixties. He did a turn in Vietnam. I never knew much about his military days because my wife and her mom both have told me he doesn’t like to talk about it. Like many of the men/boys sent to Vietnam, my FIL went through hell both in the jungle and even when he got back to the states after the war. So the FIL doesn’t talk about it and nobody asks.

Over the Xmas holiday, we took the wife’s folks to the Buckhorn Exchange. The Buckhorn has the first Colorado liquor license and mostly serves wild game in the restaurant. There are hundreds of animal heads mounted on the walls. Vegans don’t even drive within five blocks of this place. They also have quite a few stuffed birds of various species. Including ducks!!

The FIL is an avid hunter from Michigan and he got a kick out of the place and was in a great mood. The four of us sat at the table nibbling on Elk and Buffalo tips while we had a few cocktails. Somehow the conversation turned to when the FIL and MIL met. I started asking a ton of questions and soon the FIL was talking about his military days. An hour later, he told us stories that neither the MIL nor my wife had ever heard before. It was wild. I just kept asking questions and he kept telling stories. I think everyone has always been afraid to ask.

The MIL ordered the duck and it smelled kind of funny.

After eating, we went upstairs for an after dinner drink. A 75 year old cowboy was playing the air harp while singing folk songs. There was a stuffed mallard on the shelf above the stage. The FIL was stoked. He bought a CD.

I stopped on the way home at a gas station. I went inside to buy a diet coke. I paid the clerk and wished him happy holidays. He scowled. I thought about asking him if he had ever seen Scrooge, but I didn’t want to get shot. Plus, I kind of had to pass gas (stupid elk and buffalo), so I scurried back outside and finished filling the tank.

There you have it. Mean guy with gas. Well, a grumpy clerk at a gas station anyway.

Don’t step on any ducks.