Fitbit Farts and Other Funny Follies

During the week of making funeral arrangements and preparing for family visits, I couldn't sleep much. One night, however, the noises of the house stole the hours of sleep from me.  

Tossing from one side to the next, my body tired and wrinkled from near exhaustion and heartache, I could hear a nearly pulsating sound, like a fart! I questioned my mind and body. Was I so tired that my own body was giving out on me?? One more worry to add to the ever present aging process. 

Now, if my father had 'tooted' he would have blamed the dog, immediately pointing to Ticky or Tootles. As a child I laughed at Dad's tricks, and then watched the poor dog hang his head in humiliation. Of course, my father, being a trickster, owned a hand held rubber tube that fit in his pocket. On ladies day or for golf tournaments, Dad would put the fart ball, as we called it, in his pocket and casually walk by golfers and squeeze his toy in the middle of some one's back swing. No matter what type of fart he made, the long slow "toot toot buzzz......" or the pronounced "Toot" without odor, the victim tucked his or her body in embarrassment, then followed that move by outrage or laughter when the group figured out what had happened.

Shifting in sleep mode I once again heard the squeezing

sound of a fart. With one eye opened I rolled to the side of the bed and sniffed. The air was clean. The dog could not be blamed.

Now I rolled closer to Jack, so as to rub his shoulder the next time he farted! Not Jack! 

The early morning hours arrived and I heard the fuzzy vibration. In sledge hammer mode I arose and walked around the bedroom searching for some unknown fart machine or dying animal.  At last when sunlight flooded the house, and my awareness returned I heard and saw the noise. There on my dresser lay my Fitbit with notifications ON!  With each notification or reminder

to get up and move the Fitbit quietly buzzed, but the fart noise came when it actually vibrated on the dresser top. My emotions ranged from laughter to anger at my loss of sleep, but the mystery was solved, and my dad would have laughed. 

FOOTNOTE:

For those who wear Fitbits to help motivate or count steps, I must say I've learned a new trick.  After complaining week after week that I must surely walk more than it counts, I discovered that it truly counts steps when I attach it to my tennis shoe laces and walk.  Then my steps each count, when walking through stores with a basket being pushed or on the treadmill when I'm resting my arms at the sides instead of swinging them.