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For those of you who don't know, I have asthma.
Sometimes it's completely manageable, but attacks are becoming more and more common. I've been told I should keep track of any triggers, so I can decipher if it's something seasonal like pollen or environmental, like mold or cat dander. Sometimes it's hard to track an attack down to one specific source.
Last night, I had a pretty bad one. And I can tell you exactly what the trigger was. The phrase "miasma of poo."
I would say that context is for wusses. But I'm in a good mood.
The explanation isn't exactly going to help. I promise. My family is odd. That's really about all you need to know.
So my dad and I were trying to make the noise a balloon makes when you rub it. Without the balloon. Because we're special. And Mom came into the room, and saw us clutching our faces, and thought that our aged and evil pug had taken out the most powerful weapon in his arsenal with which he will someday take over the world: his incredibly aggressive flatulence.
So she says, "Miasma of poo?"
And I laughed until I stopped breathing, literally.
And then I fell onto Mom, who fell onto the pug, who let forth a for-real miasma. Which only made us laugh the harder, which only made things worse, which only made things funnier. It was a vicious cycle.
Later, when I'd had medicine pumped into me, and was hanging my face into the hot-water-filled sink in an attempt to steam my lungs open, I wondered what a doctor would say, if he asked me what had triggered my latest attack.
There you have it. Miasma. Of poo. Perhaps the fatal word combination that's going to win us the war on terror. Thank you and goodnight.
Sometimes it's completely manageable, but attacks are becoming more and more common. I've been told I should keep track of any triggers, so I can decipher if it's something seasonal like pollen or environmental, like mold or cat dander. Sometimes it's hard to track an attack down to one specific source.
Last night, I had a pretty bad one. And I can tell you exactly what the trigger was. The phrase "miasma of poo."
I would say that context is for wusses. But I'm in a good mood.
The explanation isn't exactly going to help. I promise. My family is odd. That's really about all you need to know.
So my dad and I were trying to make the noise a balloon makes when you rub it. Without the balloon. Because we're special. And Mom came into the room, and saw us clutching our faces, and thought that our aged and evil pug had taken out the most powerful weapon in his arsenal with which he will someday take over the world: his incredibly aggressive flatulence.
So she says, "Miasma of poo?"
And I laughed until I stopped breathing, literally.
And then I fell onto Mom, who fell onto the pug, who let forth a for-real miasma. Which only made us laugh the harder, which only made things worse, which only made things funnier. It was a vicious cycle.
Later, when I'd had medicine pumped into me, and was hanging my face into the hot-water-filled sink in an attempt to steam my lungs open, I wondered what a doctor would say, if he asked me what had triggered my latest attack.
There you have it. Miasma. Of poo. Perhaps the fatal word combination that's going to win us the war on terror. Thank you and goodnight.
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I will see you again! I will! Everything is now exclamatory! Because you're right! It has been for freaking ever! We must change that! Also my lungs are feeling much better thank you very much!
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I forgot to mention that I got my wee Scottish turtle! He's so cute. I've just been nuzzling him. :D
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We should definitely make one for a certain actor the next time both he and we attend a certain event... And we could make a hedgehog for Flannigan if he ever shows up!
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You must do it. Now.
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...If those are the words we're going to use, we better not try to get them past George W. or else even more will not get done.
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It'll be mass anarchy.
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