Every now and then when life gets too stressful, my friends and I head for the mountains. Our day trips always include good food, window-shopping, a soak in the mineral hot springs, and, of course, gut-busting laughter.
A couple of weeks ago we made another jaunt to Banff, a day I cherished since I know I’ll miss my friends and our road trips after Hubby and I move to the coast. We managed to complete the hour-and-a-half drive acting like actual adults: Chatting and exclaiming over the scenery that remains spectacular no matter how often we visit.
But then (as it frequently seems to happen when I’m involved) we reverted to the mental age of thirteen. To protect the guilty, I’ll identify my companions only as J, L, and Swamp Butt. Yes, there’s a good reason for that nickname.
Here’s how it started: In the restaurant at lunch, Swamp Butt and I claimed the banquette seat with our backs to the wall while J and L chose chairs across from us. I had just settled in when a sudden movement made me glance over toward Swamp Butt… who was canted away from me at a steep angle, ass pointing in my direction while she muttered something about ‘the crack’.
Apparently the look on my face was priceless, because J and L burst into uproarious laughter. By the time Swamp Butt managed to explain that she was only scooting over on the bench because she’d been sitting on ‘the crack’ between the banquette cushions, we were all in tears of hilarity.
Which primed us nicely for what happened later.
After a lunch of rich food and beer followed later by a gigantic dinner and more beer, Swamp Butt was living up to her nickname. We managed to maintain a semblance of composure while she walked along crop dusting the streets of Banff, but just as we got into J’s vehicle for the drive home she cracked off another fart that clung like a vile cloak when she got into the vehicle.
Gasping, gagging, and giggling, we all powered down our windows and rode out the stink.
It was late, and we subsided into tired but happy silence on the drive home… until halfway back to Calgary when the quiet was broken by the sound of Swamp Butt’s window powering down.
In the next instant the rest of us simultaneously slammed our windows open, causing another paroxysm of laughter; especially when the sudden burst of highway-speed turbulence sucked an unsecured shopping bag up from the floor. I snagged it just before it soared out the window, generating a volley of badinage about what a ‘crack’ team we are.
Swamp Butt didn’t let any more slip and we all made it home unscathed, but it’s a testament to the power of aversive conditioning how quickly our reflexes developed.
And it’s a testament to the power of friendship that our day will become yet another funny shared memory that binds us together regardless of geographic distance.
These precious friendships will never slip through the cracks… despite anything else that may slip through ‘the crack’!