Tonight, while I read Allie The Little Engine That Could I farted.
The smell of burning tires mixed with rotting squid at low tide hit Allie before it did me. I knew this because she threw her head back against her pillow and gasped for air. By the time she clamped her hands over her nose and mouth the smell reached me.
She tried not to say anything because I think she wanted me to finish the story. This despite the fact I've read her this book many times. Finally I said, "I farted."
Allie looked at me and her eyes told me that at that moment she'd be willing to talk to an attorney about the ins and outs of becoming an emancipated minor. Then she buried her face into my neck.
I had just washed my face and it must have smelled of soap and Sea Breeze. It seemed to stop Allie from convulsing.
I waved the book around but nothing I did seemed to eliminate the smell. "Do you want me to leave?" I asked.
"No. Just stop farting," Allie said.
I finished the story in a hurry. By the time I reached the last, I thought I could I'm pretty sure Allie was convinced the tale wasn't worth what she had to endure.
I got up to turn off the light and heard a sigh of relief.
I don't really know why I'm having particularly stinky gas this evening. We went out for dinner at a place called Fat Jack's. I had some incredibly good ribs. Perfectly smoked; almost a shame to eat with any sauce at all. But they couldn't have kicked in so quickly.
It had to have been last night's fish sticks.
I went in to check on Allie just a few moments ago. I would almost swear I still detect a hint of my earlier transgression.
Tomorrow we'll get quote for new carpet in Allie's bedroom.