While we sit and wait for a AAA rescue, let me tell you why Stephen wins the MVR award for day one: He accused me of farting. But I didn't.
So I began to explain the ridiculousness of accusing the lone other occupant of the vehicle when he must in fact be the culprit himself, as it surely could not have been I. But he continued to deny responsibility and moved his hand towards the switch to roll down his window and clear the air. Only then did I realize how perilous our situation had become.
Taking swift action, I shouted for him to roll the window back up and hit the recirc button on the air conditioning. A few deep breaths later, relief washed over me as I came to fully realize what we just avoided.
If you don't have any idea what I'm talking about then chances are you've never driven through that dark, dank stretch of I-95 through the sulfur swamps of central Florida. For those of you who have been spared this most unpleasant of experiences, let me try to paint a picture of the horror my brother and I narrowly avoided thanks to his bloodhound olfactories and my powers of deduction.
You and some friends are enjoying a lovely roadtripping afternoon together. Its a beautiful day, so everybody has their windows down, arms hanging out the side, taking in the view of low trees rushing past as you drive. Suddenly, the worst smell imaginable permeates the vehicle, clutching the hopeless inhabitants by the nostrils.
Now, whenever an unpleasent odor is detected by a group of men, the assumption is that one of their party produced it and shared it with the rest. Once a roadtrip squad realizes that the danger is in fact from without, everyone rolls up their window and switches the a/c to recirculate. But its too late.....its ALWAYS too late. Even with all the windows closed tight, merely having the A/C set to draw from the outside air is enough to doom a carload of travelers....once the gas is in, there's no escaping........the methane is everywhere. I've watched grown men cry under such stress. Everyone gasps for air, but there is none.
Central Florida is where God dutch ovens humanity
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So tonight mom and I met for dinner. We're strolling the streets of Clarendon on our way to the restaurant, laughing about this very blog entry. Mom, "I just loved the metaphor about the dutch oven, so clever." Me, "really?? I mean I'm just kind of surprised, someone would only find that funny if they knew what a dutch oven was..." Mom, very matter of factly and I think somewhat offended, "like the boyscouts! I KNOW what a dutch oven is!" Notice the exclamation points, those denote her voice being loud enough for bystanders to hear her announce that she knows what a dutch oven is. Me, "shhhh" followed by mortified giggles. Mom, "whaaat, tell me!" So I proceeded to explain to our dear, sweet, innocent mother the urbandictionary.com definition of a dutch oven. Mom...silence. A little bit of blushing....then a burst of laughter followed by "THAT's what a dutch oven is?!" Again, with exclamation points. At this point I notice two girls cracking up at her/me and I again remind her to please keep her voice down if she's going to discuss such things in public. So, in conclusion, thank you brothers, for giving me that life experience.
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