Dear Penny
Dear Penny,
Your farts stink. Seriously, seriously stink. Even more stinky than airplane farts. You haven't ever been on a plane, my little Penny Kravitz, but let me tell you something about airplane farts.
Airplane farts usually occur at high altitudes and when the plane is at full capacity. No one knows from whence the fart came, and most people won't acknowledge it for fear others will see them squirm and assume it was they who dealt it. I am most certainly not speaking of myself, thankyouverymuch, I'm just trying to make a point.
Airplane farts lie still in the air. The lack of circulation in the cabin gives them the most rancid and putrid smell that, until tonight, I thought could only occur on a 747.
You, my Pensacola, hath proved that theory wrong.
You fart when you sleep. You fart when you cough. You fart when you are excited. You fart when you are hungry, and you most certainly fart when you are full.
How does so much methane exist in such a tiny body? How do your farts manage to linger in the air longer than any other awful smell?? How have you managed to produce a smell that is uncomfortably reminiscent of in-flight services?
I am dumbfounded.
But this I know.
I love being with you.
I love it that you want to go everywhere with me. I love it that you keep me company while I am working at home and when I am working at my storage unit.
I love it when you slip into the backseat, turn in circles, and settle into the cushion. I love it that the baristas at the Starbucks drive-thru recognize you as readily as they do me. They forget that I always order the Hazlenut latte, but they remember my little Pendulum. We don't speak about espresso beans, just about you.
You come with me to Ontario every time I go. You like being at gramma's house because at gramma's you eat the stuff I wouldn't feed you at home- including hamburgers from Carls' Jr.
I love it that you are house-trained, and love it significantly less that you sometimes forget you are house-trained. *sigh.
I love your wagging tail, and love it significantly less when you wag and breathe in my face simultaneously. (Your tail acts as a fan, thereby circulating your breath- so gross).
I love your shiny coat, and love it significantly less when it's all over my couch.... and bed.... and carpet.... and clothes..... and your water bowl.
Yes, yes my small Penny-Gwen, I take the good with the bad. Even the farts.
Love, Mom.
Your farts stink. Seriously, seriously stink. Even more stinky than airplane farts. You haven't ever been on a plane, my little Penny Kravitz, but let me tell you something about airplane farts.
Airplane farts usually occur at high altitudes and when the plane is at full capacity. No one knows from whence the fart came, and most people won't acknowledge it for fear others will see them squirm and assume it was they who dealt it. I am most certainly not speaking of myself, thankyouverymuch, I'm just trying to make a point.
Airplane farts lie still in the air. The lack of circulation in the cabin gives them the most rancid and putrid smell that, until tonight, I thought could only occur on a 747.
You, my Pensacola, hath proved that theory wrong.
You fart when you sleep. You fart when you cough. You fart when you are excited. You fart when you are hungry, and you most certainly fart when you are full.
How does so much methane exist in such a tiny body? How do your farts manage to linger in the air longer than any other awful smell?? How have you managed to produce a smell that is uncomfortably reminiscent of in-flight services?
I am dumbfounded.
But this I know.
I love being with you.
I love it that you want to go everywhere with me. I love it that you keep me company while I am working at home and when I am working at my storage unit.
I love it when you slip into the backseat, turn in circles, and settle into the cushion. I love it that the baristas at the Starbucks drive-thru recognize you as readily as they do me. They forget that I always order the Hazlenut latte, but they remember my little Pendulum. We don't speak about espresso beans, just about you.
You come with me to Ontario every time I go. You like being at gramma's house because at gramma's you eat the stuff I wouldn't feed you at home- including hamburgers from Carls' Jr.
I love it that you are house-trained, and love it significantly less that you sometimes forget you are house-trained. *sigh.
I love your wagging tail, and love it significantly less when you wag and breathe in my face simultaneously. (Your tail acts as a fan, thereby circulating your breath- so gross).
I love your shiny coat, and love it significantly less when it's all over my couch.... and bed.... and carpet.... and clothes..... and your water bowl.
Yes, yes my small Penny-Gwen, I take the good with the bad. Even the farts.
Love, Mom.
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