Chili Size

It's been ages since I've been out with the girls. In fact, it's been so long that I don't really think about it as a noteworthy event but rather as a peculiar turn or twist of events. A friend of mine does a public television access show at Time Warner in Santa Monica. She called upon her friends to be her live audience. Afterwards we took off for dinner at an old diner in West Los Angeles. http://www.yelp.com/biz/Hw6iPiKiUAZqOzl8g6Sy5w
Not exactly the kind of place you'd want to take mama for Mother's Day, but the food is clean. I had a chili size (something I never order because, well, I'm no big fan of chili). It's now some eight hours hence and I still smell the chili spice on my breath with every expulsion of burped gas.
I suppose we should count our blessings that it is only this and neither flatulence nor flatus that follows us around.
Yesterday I worked in a nursing home and suffered from the above-mentioned malaise. It's probably the only time that you count your blessings for being there. If someone comments on the smell of expelled gas, you simply say, "Yeah, I don't know what these residents eat, but some of them could peel the paper off the wall!"
There is none so guilty as he who will not admit to having farted in public.