Farting on the brother-in-law

In the interest of propriety, I probably should not tell this story.

But I'm gonna.  ;)

This happened . . . maybe last year . . . in February.  I remember the date because of something else that happened that day.  It comes to mind now because of something that happened last weekend.

You see, one of our favorite activities is what we call "junkin."  Several times a year, we get together with The Husband's sister and her husband and do day-trips to flea markets and antique stores.  We usually do more looking than buying.

We did a junkin' trip to McKenzie, Tennessee two weekends ago, and it was this trip that spawned the memory of what happened last year in February.

That day last February, our junkin' destination was Corinth, Mississippi, with a side-trip to Selmer, Tennessee, where there was a bluegrass concert that evening.

You'll need a little background information to understand why I did what I did.

In 2017, we did a two-day road trip with the in-laws.  This trip was the West Tennessee Wine Trail.  It started in Millington (lower left corner of the state) and ended in Kenton (upper west corner).  We visited about 7 wineries that weekend.  On the first day, we stopped for lunch at the Old Country Store in Jackson, TN.  They have a big, southern cooking buffet - fried chicken, fried fish, turnip greens, great northern beans, you name it.  I don't remember what I had for lunch that day except for a fateful serving of beans that caused the whole ruckus.  By that time, we'd already visited two or three wineries, plus a distillery, and had sampled probably a dozen wines,some "Tenn-quila," and some moonshine.  After lunch, we got back on the wine trail.  As we were leaving the next winery, I sneezed in the parking lot, and when I did, I accidentally let out a big, loud fart that probably registered on the Richter scale.

My brother-in-law has not let me forget it.  Every time we go junkin' (or anywhere else, for that matter), he recalls my little indiscretion, and when we stop to eat, he cautions me not to eat any beans.

So.  February of last year.  We'd been junkin' in Corinth.  We'd been to the bluegrass concert in Selmer.  We'd eaten catfish for dinner in Michie, Tennessee.  While The Husband was paying the restaurant bill and the Sister-in-Law was visiting the ladies' room, the Brother-in-Law and I walked outside.  As we were coming out of the restaurant, the Brother-in-Law (his name is Richard, but we'll call him "Dick") said, "I'm glad they didn't have any beans on the menu since I have to be shut up in the truck with you for a hundred miles."

Well, that did it.

I was already feeling a big bubble in the lower intestinal area.  I had kind of planned to "ease one out" in the parking lot before we all got in the truck.  But just as he said that, The Husband came out of the restaurant, and hit the beeper to unlock the doors.  I quickly reached to open the door where Dick would be sitting, intending to turn around and blast the fart right into his breathing space, just to teach him a lesson.  However, he was also reaching for the door handle, and he bumped into my backside before I could turn it toward the truck, and I ended up blasting the fart right onto HIS LEG.  He not only heard it, he FELT it.

He screamed, "What the F*CK!?" and staggered backwards, nearly getting hit by a car that was pulling into the parking space next to ours.

I doubled over laughing, machine-gunning a few more toots in the process (which the people in the car probably heard).

It did not exactly teach him the lesson I intended, and it certainly did not curtail his teasing, but I am still laughing about it today.  :)