“Ooohhhh, that’s stinky!” said Kolby, crinkling up her pert little nose.  “Daddy farted.”

Daddy looked dismayed.  “I did not fart!  Kyle farted,” Tim adamantly replied.

A guilty look crossed (my teenager) Kyle’s face.  “Nope, it wasn’t me,” he playfully teased, even though we all knew his butt smelled like day old broccoli.

Baby Kolby looked confused, but then a brilliant thought passed through her emerging toddler paradigm, “I know,” she said very seriously, “Mickey Mouse farted!”

And how could we do anything but laugh –because at the tender age of twenty-three months, Kolby is already learning the blame game.

We blame being late to church on traffic or cranky babies, not finishing home projects on illness or injury (like back pain, sprained ankles and the endless cold…I’m just referring to random people dear, not you).

We blame our overspending on the bad economy, our addictions on stress, and our wine habit on the kids (this is a generalization, not a confession.  I do not have a wine habit, though I do like a nice Cabernet occasionally if you would like an idea for a Christmas gift)

I personally get frustrated when my pants don’t fit and blame it on hormones, getting older, and my parents for being tremendous cooks.  I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I have only exercised less than a dozen times since I came back from my cruise in July.  Or, that I put whip cream on my coffee every day and that since Casa Ranchero has opened (my favorite Mexican restaurant) I have demolished about 52 baskets of chips with an accompanying margarita (that’s over the last year -not all at once)

Blame has been around since the gardening days of Adam and Eve.  Adam said the woman made him do it, while Eve blamed the serpent for her lust of the forbidden fruit.  (I wonder what would have happened if they had just owned it?) 

“Uhhh yeah God, I wanted it, I thought you were withholding and I ate it.” (We might have gotten lighter curses…just saying)

So, I’m thinking about what it would mean to me if I admitted more of my stuff.

Is it rude to say I’m late because I dawdled around and read just five more pages of the Hunger Games(which is AMAZING) before getting in the shower (i.e. I’m selfish and don’t care that much about your time) or how about I’ve gained five pounds because I like pie and the reason I’m walking like a duck is because I worked-out the last four days in a row and I can’t sit because my buttocks ache –all because I ate the pie, can’t afford a new wardrobe and I hate having a muffin top.

Not sure how that would go over?  Our culture seems to embrace the little white lie as a requisite of good manners. 

Hmmmm?  Regardless, we now have a new friend in the house to blame our farts on (and yours too if you visit).

So if it stinks in the Keller home, blame it on Mickey Mouse.  (Apparently, he’s related to MVE–our dearest and fartiest friend)

 

What do you like to blame things on?  Got a good excuse?  Share it with me!