DFU

I’ve found a new way to amuse myself while at work. And this entertainment leads to the sort of laughter that you try to hold in, which makes it even worse. Oh, and it also proves that I occasionally I have the maturity of a 12 year old boy.

You may or may not know that I work in a cubicle environment (or perhaps I should call it a poop-icle environment). I happen to have a co-worker who farts. ALL THE TIME. At least once a day. At first I thought I was just hearing things, but now it comes with such frequency that there’s no way it can be explained by an unfortunate dragging of a chair. And there’s no way it can be her heel dragging on the carpet – she wears orthopedic shoes and they just don’t sound like that. Fortunately, the aroma either doesn’t exist or evaporates before it crosses the aisle.

Seriously, who does this? Does she not feel it? Or hear it?

Or does she have some sort of medical condition, thereby making me a huge a-hole for laughing about it?

Regardless, I’ve started alerting some of my co-workers who are of humorous persuasion similar to mine via the DFU…the Daily Flatulence Update. Names are being withheld to protect the noisy.

On a side note, Mini’s trip to the doctor went very well. Still at the 25th percentile on weight and height, but the 90th on head circumference. Just like his momma and nanny. The Big Ole Oprah Winfrey Head, as my mom calls it.

Okay, back to work.