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

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 me from a dresser a few months after she passed away:

Screen shot 2015-05-11 at 10.30.57 AM

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!


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.

Ps. Still don’t believe in ghost farts? Check out my post, I GOT GAZZZZZZZ. It just might make you a believer.

About Diana Davis

I’m a writer with a blog that will send my kids to therapy one day. Until then I invite you to laugh with me at their expense. Don't worry they love it. They're smiling already—or maybe that’s just gas.
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8 Responses to GHOST FART

  1. lapski says:

    LOVE IT !!!! best one yet !!!! and i believe !!!!!!!


  2. arglebargle says:

    “I never doubt anyone’s God because to me, if you can’t prove it’s there how can you prove it’s not?”
    Well, you could start with some logic.


  3. Ernie says:

    I’m cracking up on the beach reading this. I believe!!


  4. Tricia says:

    For a year or more after my Dad passed, the smell of fresh brewing coffee flooded the house at precisely 7 am for about an hour. My Dad made coffee every morning at 7 after he retired. I know he’s with us at all times. And to the aetheist, we have freedom of religion, freedom of speech and live in a free country. The .5 percent of the population the shares your views, share them among yourselves. No one else cares about how angry you are and your lack of belief.


    • Diana Davis says:

      That’s an awesome story about your dad Tricia!! He is definitely with you! They say that when you smell something that reminds you of someone that has passed it’s them reaching out to you. I often smell my grandma. Hahaha…that sounds funny but you know what I mean. As for the atheist, I actually think it’s hysterical and also kind of sad…I would hate to believe that there’s nothing else after you die and I’ll never see my loved ones again. But hey, to each his own, right?


  5. Pingback: Seriously, who the hell let us get married? | The Spew

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