Holy Falling Flapdoodles!!

By all rights, my story should be an animation.  Sometimes it seems like my husband and I are more cartoon characters than people.  I've got the squeaky voice, the exaggerated facial expressions, and well, just general ridiculousness.  But that would betray my absolute love affair with physical comedy.  Some of my best laughs have come from trying to introduce my tall, lanky husband to winter sports.  Luckily for me, he falls with true comic finesse.  The time we went ice skating, he spun a full 360 degrees and did the whole futile arm flapping before landing with skates in the air.  Then there was cross-country skiing.  The hill turned right, and Jon went straight.  He ended up just sitting down in the snow, but I was not to be denied my guffaws.  Every time he tried to get up, he kept sliding down hill and falling again.  And again.  I think I peed my pants that day.

So, my movie would totally be physical comedy. I'd love to see Amy Pohler and Will Arnett cast as me and my husband.  We are a couple of goobers, and not a day goes by without cracking each other up.  My husband claims his "talent" for fulminating flatulence is due to the presence of an extra organ in his intestine, which he calls a "flapdoodle."  A few years ago, he got extremely sick, and was taken to the hospital where they discovered a mass in his large intestine.  He went into emergency surgery that same night.  I rushed home to get my kids' stuff, picked up Alex from daycare, and dropped the kids at my in-laws.  I gave Jon's parents the scoop, told them I'd keep them informed.  I barely made it to the hospital before he went into surgery. I held his hand, told him everything was going to be okay, and when the anesthesiologist told me he had to take him away to get prepped, I kissed Jon and said, "ask them to remove your flapdoodle while they're in there."

I'm happy to report that despite a few GI irritations and a couple scars, my husband came through this whole experience with no signs of cancer and is in good health once again.  Flapdoodle and all.  But heck, my love for physical comedy can overcome the frequent offensive odors in the bedroom.  Because after all, farts are funny.