She’s absolutely right. And I’m absolutely incapable of stopping, apparently. When our 7-year-old makes fart noises, my laughter is pretty much a completely irresistible stimulus response.

In my defense, he is exceptional at it. Like a Mozart of fart noises. It almost defies belief that he can even make such sounds. You see, I’m not talking about him pththth-ing out cute little tongue-flapping raspberries here. We’re dealing with Hollywood-worthy sound effects here, people. He’ll lay a hand over his face and produce atomic butt trombones that would scare werewolves away. It doesn’t help that he’s clever enough to drop these unexpectedly into innocent conversations for even greater comedic impact.

The other day he piped up from his car seat, “Daddy, I know what three times five is.” And, like the clueless sucker that I am, I took the bait and said, “Oh cool, what is it?” Then he hits me with it, “Three times five is fif-[SOUND OF A MUTANT WALRUS FARTING INTO A MEGAPHONE IN A DEEP CAVERN].” Hahahahahahahahahahah!

So, I completely understand when my wife levels a “shut your bloody gob” stare at me. The best I can seem to manage is quaking in a epileptic fit of repressed laughter. Which probably isn’t my most helpful contribution to parenting.

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