The Element of Surprise

         One momentous day my dad came home with a whoopee cushion.  My mother had never seen one before and was intrigued.    My dad explained, even demonstrated to our delight.  At the time, my folks had a wooden rocking chair in the living room complete with a cushion my mom had sewn resting on its wooden seat.  When my Dad placed it under the cushion on the rocking chair and proceeded to demonstrate,  a fart the size of the universe was emitted.   My mother and I completely lost it.  God knows, farts are funny anyways!  Who could resist? We all laughed so hard, we were soon coughing, sputtering,  and blowing snot from our noses, with tears streaming down our faces. 

        After we finished taking turns slamming our butts on the whoopee cushion and laughing hysterically like a pack of hyenas, we plotted.  What unsuspecting sap could we lure to the chair?  The perfect choice was my older sister.  She no longer lived at home, and hadn’t for quite some time.  She never just dropped in to see us.   When she did show her face there was always a motive and that motive always involved a donation to her favorite cause-herself.  Whether it was food, money,  or free vegetables or flowers from the garden,  she would only stop in to visit if it would benefit her, never staying long.

         I don’t remember how my parents managed to get her to show up that day, but she showed up sniffing the air like a bulldog drawn to fresh meat.  My dad had set the stage carefully.  He blew the whoopee cushion up to full capacity and placed it under the velvety pillow on the rocking chair.  

        When she finally arrived, we quickly took our places.  The need for ultimate surprise was essential.   She couldn’t know or even sense that anything was amiss.  We sat down leaving only the rocking chair empty.  We held our breath, and waited.  My Dad quickly reminded us “Quaker’s meeting has begun, no more laughing, no more fun, no more chewing bubble gum!”  We zipped our lips, and it was game on!!

         Since there was nowhere else to sit, my sister was forced to her only available option.  She walked in and made a beeline to her doom.  She piously sank into the  rocking chair with reckless abandon.   Immediately, the  silence was broken by a fart loud enough to shatter glass.  My sister let out a scream, and her legs and arms shot straight out like a cannon. She almost fell off the rocking chair in obvious shock.  Her face went crimson, and she sputtered and choked on her own laughter.   She didn’t know what the hell hit her!   Needless to say, it was a moment for the record books that will live in the recesses of my twisted mind forever.

        From that day forth, the rocking chair sat empty.  No one dared sit in it, for fear my Dad had planted the whoopee cushion.  Those brave enough to dare had the brains to check under the cushion before taking a seat.  As time passed, the rocking chair was eventually moved to a spare bedroom.  To this day I have no earthly clue what became of the rocking chair or the whoopee cushion.  All that lingers is the echoing laughter and the memory.  One thing is for sure, it wouldn't have been near as sweet if not for the element of complete surprise.  Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.