And Emily Post Turns Over In Her Grave

Saturday night I went to eat with family friends. These friends have two adorable children, a girl age 7(I’ll call her Belle) and a boy age 1 ½(I’ll call him Crash). These kids are seriously funny. Belle is elegant, prissy, but not afraid to get dirty, already a heck of a hunter as well as a serious basketball player. Crash is all boy, but flirty and funny, too. Both kiddos are sweet, smart as whips and function well around adults.

We’re through eating, visiting, and all of a sudden, Crash sits up straight in his high chair. He has this look of surprise on his face, says something (we’re not sure what) and points to his bottom. We laugh, and so does Crash.

Mom: Hey, Crash. Need to go to the bathroom?

Crash shakes his head no, and goes on playing, sticking a chopstick into one of those square pretzels, then popping the pretzel into his mouth. He’s pretty dang good at it.

The conversation quickly morphs to how loud Crash’s burps are. Belle is avidly describing just how gross her little brother can get, all the while laughing. She laughs so hard, we all laugh. And then we hear it. And it is LOUD. And LOOOOOONG.

“Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!”

Mom, Dad, and I all turn to look at Crash, who looks at us, like, “What?”. And then, it hits us. That sound emanated from Belle.

We look at Belle, and she’s got this surprised look on her elegant little face, but is half smiling, too. Mom and I look at each other, and start that silent shaking laughter, you know, the kind that is so strong, it hurts? Tears are flowing down our faces. Belle starts laughing, Dad starts laughing, and finally, Crash decides he’ll join in, too.

Lord. You can’t pay for entertainment like this.