Because I'm a Lady Like That

Here's a little conversation that occurred between Eric and me earlier this evening. What prompted this dialogue was me farting. On purpose. Yep, I said it, so there. I'm not one of those people who excuses themselves to go "pass gas" in another room. Yeah, shame on me.

So, we're in the kitchen, and Eric is putting away dinner, and I'm checking e-mail on the laptop while sitting on a stool at our island counter. Here's the conversation prompted by the preceding fart:

Me: I'd better stop doing that in front of Greta because she's gonna figure it out. She's now old enough that she will look at me if I make a noise when I fart.

Eric leans over on the counter, like he's going to tell me a very important secret and gestures with his finger for me to come closer so that I can hear this very important secret.

Eric (in a hushed tone): Guess what? I know what you're doing. I've figured it out.

His way of saying, do us all a favor and don't fart in front of the baby. OR HIM.