I'd Like the Pink Gas-Mask, Please.

These were the exciting events from TODAY’S morning meeting.

Someone in the group was passing just a little bit of gas, and let’s just say that it was extraordinary.

Matthew, who is never at a loss for Chris Rock-like one-liners, cries out,

“It smells like Nana's pot-roast up in here!”

Now, I've never had Matthew's Nana's pot-roast but if it even smelled remotely like what we were smelling, I wouldn't put it in my mouth.

A little voice whispered quietly from the back of the group, without missing a beat...

“Sorry Guys...my butt's just working overtime.” It was our dear little Frank.

Knowing the stomach flu was making the rounds, I kept my eye on little Frankie all morning, because noxious gas usually precedes a cookie toss...

Sure enough about an half hour later… I beat my fifteen-second “running with the garbage can” record.

And not a DROP made it to the floor.

(And THANKS for springing me yesterday!! I am speechless, speechless, speechless - but I will whip up blubbering thank you tomorrow!!! You guys are all amazing. Bitchy and Sassy had faith ALL along..and admire your loyalty..as do I.)