FARTING IN THE PEW

 

FARTING IN THE PEW

FARTING IN CHURCH

 

I farted in church today.

Didn’t mean to.

It just slipped out—

a tiny trumpet blast

from deep within my squirmy soul.

 

We were told to kneel—

still don’t know why—

on old wooden benches

and scratchy pillows

that felt like they were stuffed with holy porcupines.

 

We clasped our hands together,

begged forgiveness from the bottom of our hearts,

and I prayed for Jesus,

I prayed for Mom and Dad,

and I prayed to God Himself

to pardon my wandering winds.

Yes—

I crop‑dusted the entire pew.

But honestly,

I’m just a kid with a tiny bladder,

an over‑eager backside,

and absolutely no warning label.

How was I supposed to know the priest would cry?

 

“Jesus Christ!” shouted Father,

“May God have mercy on your soul!”

I tried not to laugh,

but a smile escaped anyway.

Next time,

maybe don’t make us kneel for so long—

even saints have limits.