So, Mr. Z has this huge crush on a girl in his class and, from the sounds of it, she kinda digs him, too. Which is great... and fucked up. The boy's nine, for fuck's sake. And since he skipped a grade, she's older -- 11 to be exact. Total Susan Sarandon/Tim Robbins thing going on.
Anywhich, each day, he comes home with more "evidence" that she's into him. Sometimes he catches her staring at him, she compliments him on his work in art class, she gave him a root beer lollipop at Family "Fun" night. Sometimes the evidence seems a little scant, but when taken all together, I think he's on to something.
Tonight, while we were chatting at bedtime, I accidentally unleashed a heinous fart. With an accent on the "einous." As he was tearing up and gasping for oxygen, we had the following exchange:
ME: Hey, do you think Miss E ever farts?
MR. Z: No way!!! She doesn't do that kinda thing!
ME: Oh, but she does. Remember that book "Everyone Poops"? Well, if everyone poops, then everyone totally farts. Especially Miss E.
MR. Z: [silently pondering this disturbing revelation]
ME: I know it can be sort of strange to think about someone you like farting and pooping. Maybe we should talk about something else...
MR. Z: I'll bet she has flowery, little pink poops.
ME: Okay, I shouldn't have said anything. It's time to go to sle--
MR. Z: And I'll bet she cuts tropical farts that smell like coconuts and bananas.
ME: All right, time to go to sleep, Tommy Bahama! You can dream about her tropical gassers all you want, but I don't want to talk about it anymore.
MR. Z: You started it!
ME: Oh yeah? Well... whoever smelt it, dealt it, okay? Goodnight.
Once again, I think I've managed to somehow invent a brand new fetish and then inadvertently foist it upon my son. Ten years from now, he's so going to be the moderator of the alt.binaries.tropicalflatus newsgroup. I better go lock up all the suntan lotion, just to be safe.