One time Angela was driving on a freeway interchange and had a tire blow-out. Her car spun and shimmied and eventually she found herself at the center of a smoking mess of twisted metal violently halted by a concrete median. For months, when describing this mild catasrophe she referred to it as her “blow-out on the freeway.”
On a related note, we have a whole gaggle of nieces and nephews. Many of them are toddler age or younger. They trot around in diapers, make incoherent pleas to be held, and acquaint themselves with new objects (such as my now water-logged cell phone) through direct and heavy application of the object to their tongues. Occasionally, their parents will share horror stories about just what is to be found mashed into the cottony paper of their kids' diapers. They habitually refer to the truly massive and disgusting discoveries—especially those too large for the diaper to fully contain—as “blow-outs.”
As soon as this term is mentioned by one of the parents, I make a point to matter-of-factly note to all present that Angela once had a blow-out. On the freeway. And it was so bad that it made her crash her car.
- clintclintclintclint
- A man of great distinction, prone to swapping desserts in the place of meals, stuck in an era he was never part of in the first place, a tall drink of water, sticks out like a sore thumb, tries really hard not to laugh at bathroom humor but fails.
4 comments:
Yep, "blow-out" in the fecal sense was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the title of this post. Proof of my maternal status, methinks.
Didn't Angela get new pants after the blow-out?
this is funny, even though i disapprove of bathroom humor.
this is freeway humor, not bathroom humor.
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