Pity?

Tom’s father repeatedly told him from a young age, 

 “I pity the woman who marries you someday.”

What? How could this be?

Pity the woman who is the recipient of his endless thoughtfulness?

Pity all of the help she gets around the house?

Pity having to look into those sparkling blue eyes every day?

Pity what a great father he is?

What on earth could there be to pity about being married to Tommy T?

Well, through the years, I have unlocked the mystery. 

Tom is a gifted “artist”. He is a Picasso.  

With a few brushstrokes of his colon, he violently plasters his air canvas with all manner of unrefined muck.

Tom is a musician. He is a Mozart.

 He can instantaneously mix the deep boom of a bass drum with the rat-tat-tat of a trumpet.

Cymbals clash with the sudden, long lull of the tuba.

All with one colon. 

All with one breath. 

All while maintaining eye contact. 

Without even a wince.

Tom is a magician. He is a David Copperfield

(except he pulls his own finger – instead of a rabbit out of a hat).

You see...when he is around his “refined” mother – he can make all of his disgusting  urges DISAPPEAR!!

That’s  Incredible!!! 

Tom is an Amnesic ventriloquist! He is Charlie Mccarthy.

 

He can rudely pass gas…be called on it (by me)…

and he INSTANTLY loses all memory of the act!

“Did I do that?”, he innocently asks.”No….that was Bryce”.  

Tom is a Super Hero. He is Captain Thunderpants. 

One of his employees at work placed a personalized can of  the Lysol Spray on his desk…hoping he would use it often…preventing other employees from having to take a “death breath” as they walked unsuspectingly into his office. 

“Triple S disinfectant”, it reads.
“Schmelly Schlot Spray”

Well, I have established the background to continue with the story.

As you know, (or if you don’t click here) I am a sleep talker/walker.

Last night I was sleeping as Tom “erupted” into one of the most incredible masterpieces of all times.

It was so violent – it jolted me from my sleep and I didn’t have time to get my bearings.

It sounded as if his colon was going through a vomituous exorcism.

“WHO VOMITED?!!! WHO VOMITED?!!!”, I screamed as I frantically brushed the invisible vomit off the bed. “WHO VOMITED”?!!!

Tom lay on the bed writhing about in laughter…shocked at his own masterpiece….

gratified and flattered that it sounded EXACTLY like someone vomiting on our bed.

He laughed himself to sleep, pleased with his newest title...  

Tom is an impersonator.

I understand now Grandpa. I understand. 

Good thing I love him.