Last night, my humans left for a short time (well, it seemed like a long time to me) to go play Glow Golf at Space Golf (mini golf).
Mom says it’s loads of corny fun. Not only can one play 3D black light golf, but the facility boasts a pizza kitchen, freshly-scooped ice cream, and an arcade. Not a super huge arcade, but a token-gobbling, skeeball-throwing, air hockey playing, little arcade. The humans had enormous fun, and won 200 tickets.
Dad gave all the tickets to Jamie, who promptly cashed them in for a Whoopee Cushion.
Normally, this wouldn’t turn a hair on my hide, except for the fact that Jamie has been sneakily hiding this Whoopee Cushion under the couch and love seat, as well as my chair, so that when I try to lie down, a loud farting noise ensues. It’s bad enough the humans blame their stinky gas on me, but now I have a whole orchestra of fart noises following me around to make me look like I really am the guilty culprit!
Jump! Onto couch. Fart! Goes the cushion. I gave Mom my most pathetic look, while trying to explain that, “I didn’t cut the cheese”. Mom laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny at all:
For the record, girls don’t “fart”, they “fluff”. Hmph. I wonder where Jamie will strike next – ??
Love, Your-friend-who-is-not-the-gassy-one, Maggie