Feed the Monkey, Watch Him ____.

At some point the Ba'hai of a good old "Karma done come around the corner and give you a taste of your own medicine" always kicks in. You may escape it for a good long while, but eventually it creeps up on you just like a pair of K-mart drawers that done shrunk up two sizes in the dryer.

A sum total of many previous discussions collided in a big cosmic bang of karma bitin' today:

Factor #1:
Chili days.
No one in my family ever wants to eat the same thing at the same time, so when I make a big ol crock pot of chili and beans, no one else will eat it but me. So it's 102 degrees outside? Turn down the AC and get me a spoon. So you know what happens when you've been eating chili and beans for three meals a day for three days.

Factor #1A:
Genetics.
My family has a lot of gas, from pull-my-finger-Dad to whew!-then-I-looked-at-that-lady-behind-me-in-the-line-at-Dillard's-like-she-did-it-Mom, we are all literally and metaphorically "full of beans."

Factor #2:
Walter.
If you have read the book that I posted as my first FBC selection, then no further explanation is necessary.

Factor #3:
Aunt Kreenel.
Aunt Kreenel, we love you. You are smart and you never talk down to my two little pink necks. You may not be fully aware of the duration and capacity for detail that the youngest possesses. He is truly the grandson of Lumpy Bananabrain.

Factor #4:
Air temperature.
Did you ever notice that methane (that would be "rectal flatulence" to you, Walter) smells worse when the air is warmer? I have a whole list of questions about toots, just waiting on the right expert to answer. That's a whole other discussion.

Factor #5:
Human growth patterns.
Rufus is now about 42 inches tall, which makes him too short to ride the Texas Titan, but just the right height for his nose to reach the business end of my booty when he gives me one of his big ol Rufus monster-leg-gripping-hug-o-fames from the back.

Factor #6:
Keep track of Mama.
Children under the age of 5 must always, at every moment, know the location of she-who-provides-the-chocolate-Ovaltine. Any attempt to go to the bathroom, talk on the phone, or take something up to the storage room will be immediately sabotaged.

Slam factors #1-6 together an here is what you get:

Today, I had to take something up to the storage room, which is over the garage and always a warm, muggy place in the summer. While up there--presumably by myself, I might add--I might have had to come to terms with the consequences a diet of chili and beans. So I "let it fly" and turned to set down what I was carrying.

Next thing I know, Rufus has run up the stairs, pretending to chase the cat, but really just making sure that I haven't endangered my Ovaltine-stirring hand. He runs three steps past me, stops, and says,

"Who farted?"

"Might have been me," I mumbled.

He turns around, runs up behind me, throws his arms around my legs in a death grip, hugs me tight, and sticks his nose right at ground zero...

"What are you doing?!?" I asked.

"Checking to see if that smell came out of your rectal cavity."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think you need to put on new underwear."