Sunday, 23 August 2015

Mr G and the Duck Farts

Mr G: You're going to blog about this, aren't you?

Me: Yup. But how, exactly, I'm going to put it into words is beyond me.

To set the scene. A warm Summer's evening in Devon. Mr G and I stroll hand in hand along the promenade towards the pier, the children running off ahead of us.  The tide is high (but I'm holding on...) and we stop to watch a father and his children skimming stones into the sea. I steal a glance at Mr G, who has a steely, determined glint in his eye.  Uh oh, I think to myself. Pissing contest ahoy. Or, there would be, but Competitive Dad is useless at skimming stones.  So, how is he going to play this one?

Mr G wanders off, scrabbling around in the terracotta coloured sand and returns with a large pebble of similar colour.  To our left, sat on the wall, a young couple are kissing and cuddling, completely oblivious to the drama about to unfold.  I look at Mr G, expecting him to attempt to skim the stone into the sea.  No.  That would have been too easy. That's someone else's husband.  What does mine do? Loudly shouts 'Duck Farts!' and hurls the stone up in the air.  Yes, up in the air.  Not at the water.  Up. In. The. Air. 

He must have one hell of a throw because it seemed to be up there an age.  Mr G wore a wide eyed, open mouthed look that is normally reserved for Nicki Minaj videos.  I looked at him. He looked at me. We both looked at the canoodling couple. The abject terror in his eyes was visible. Did we warn the young couple that one may end up with a large pebble embedded in their head?  That their romantic evening stroll may end up with a trip to Casualty and stitches?  We looked up, and this bloody stone is still coming down, spinning, almost in slow motion until it hits the ground between Mr G and I and the young couple with a huge thud, and splits in half. They jumped, shot us a filthy look, got up and walked away as quick as they could.  Mr G looked sheepish, Caitlin stalked off ahead professing 'I don't know you'.  And me? I was doubled over laughing all night.  People were walking past me, laughing at me, laughing.  

Later that evening, as I wiped away tears of mirth after another 'Duck Fart' related bout of laughter, I asked Mr G, just what the hell a Duck Fart was.  Exactly.

Well. It appears that, if you throw a stone a certain way, it will land in the water without making a loud plop, and little bubbles will rise up to the surface.  Like, when, apparently, a duck farts underwater.  Hadn't I ever seen a duck fart underwater?  Erm, no.  I'm not joking. Welcome to my world.  

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I know, I know... poetry also not my strong point...