Ass. It's what's for dinner.

After the never-ending road trip, we are back in North Carolina, just in time to escape the unseasonably warm temperatures that have moved into the North East. I am feeling pretty badly for one member of our traveling party in particular, my little sister's boyfriend. Oh, you poor poor guy. Not only did you have to ride in the back of the minivan with 2 kids and 1 occasionally livid baby, but you had to keep our snoring and gassy dog on your lap because there wasn't a single square inch of space to spare.

There was one other member of the carpool who was gassy, and while I'm not naming names, it's been an ongoing problem since that person has lost 75 pounds recently. In this person's efforts to remain anonymous, he repeatedly refused to open the car windows after dropping bombs. I can only assume the logic being that this person knew we would identify him as the culprit if he rolled down a window moments before the stench hit. Either that, or this person enjoys his own brand. Instead, he continued to deny that it was his ass gas, and stubbornly kept the windows rolled tightly up so that we could all marinate in the aroma of tomorrow's shit-to-be.

After my eyes began to water in the wake of one especially potent sneak attack, I rode the rest of the 11 hour trip with my window cracked. This had an unfortunate side effect. While it's true that the open window helped, it also served to suck the farts right towards my head. It was as if I held the checkered flags and the farts had to go whizzing by me first before they could cross through the threshold of the window and fly out into the night air. So, while I breathed in less of each particular fart because it was traveling too quickly, I also breathed in more total farts because they came from all corners of the minivan to fly out of my window. However, I figured a quick whiff of ass-stank is better than my skin melting off my bones in an undisturbed mushroom cloud of fart.

My little sister's boyfriend was too polite to crack his window and thereby admit he had noticed the stench being emitted by a certain passenger. He spent a large amount of time texting SOS signals on his cell phone before finally slipping into a coma. Today, I noticed the little lines he must have scratched into the wall in order to keep track of the hours he spent as a captive in minivan road trip hell.