WHO GHOST FARTED?

I believe in it all—good luck, bad luck, vampires, werewolves, knocking three times, black cats, Bigfoot, leprechauns, angels and astrology (I worry that my scheduled C-section will one day give my daughter an astrological identity crisis).

I never doubt anyone’s God because to me, if you can’t prove it’s there how can you prove it’s not? And as a practicing Very Bad Catholic I think our fish-only rule on Friday is crazy. What if I get up there and God’s a giant cod? Then what?

But most of all, I absolutely believe in the afterlife. So much so that I made this plea to the Long Island Medium on Twitter after my grandmother called from a dresser in my childhood bedroom a few months after she passed away:

So, it shouldn’t surprise you that when my mother had an encounter with my stepfather who passed away six months ago, I was the first person she called to tell. The conversation went like this:

Mom: I got a visit from Dave!

Me: Did he call you from the dresser? You should really put a phone in there. I’m afraid I’m missing calls.

Mom: Nope. Better. (Excited pause) I smelled his fart.

Me: A ghost fart?

Mom: Yup! I’m telling you it was him.

Me: Do you really think it’s appropriate to blame it on your dead husband, Mom? Plus you live alone. Who are you hiding it from?

Mom: Diana, I lived with the man for 30 years I know what his farts smell like.

Me: You’re telling me his farts have a signature scent—like Cinnabon and Abercrombie & Fitch?

Mom: Yes. It was him. I’m sure of it.

Me: Well then that’s just rude. The guy hasn’t seen you in six months and that’s how he says hello. I’d be pissed.

Mom: Why?! I think it’s sweet. He wanted to make sure I knew it was him.

Me: Sweet? I’d hate to see what he got you for Christmas.

Mom: You don’t believe me?

Me: I totally believe you. A woman knows her husband’s farts.

Mom: Thank you!

(Silence)

Mom: You still there?

Me: Yeah, hold on. I think Dave’s visiting me. (Pause) Wait. Nope. That’s just a hello from the 8 ounces of sweet potatoes the baby ate last night. I should go.

Mom: Goodbye!

Me: Mom, wait!

Mom: What?

Me: If he visits you again can you ask him if God is a cod?

Mom: *Click*

For Mother’s Day I gave her a beautiful framed picture of the two of them…and an Air Wick.