Park Day Shenanigans

It’s one of those perfect Saturday afternoons—blue sky, light breeze, and Mitchell and I decided to hit the park for some fresh air and laughs. Mitchell’s wearing this ridiculous shirt he found online that says “Fart Loading” with a little progress bar underneath. I nearly spit out my coffee when he showed up in it.

“Dude, that shirt is perfect,” I said, shaking my head.

“Right? I knew you’d appreciate it,” he grinned.

We’re walking the main path through the park, and Mitchell’s got this kiddie leash clipped to his belt loop as a joke—something we picked up at a thrift store last week just for the absurdity of it. I’m holding the other end like I’m walking a particularly enthusiastic golden retriever. People are giving us looks, and we’re absolutely living for it.

“You think anyone’s judging us right now?” Mitchell asks.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” I laugh. “But that’s what makes it great.”

We pass a family having a picnic, and the dad does a double-take at Mitchell’s shirt. The kids are giggling. Mitchell gives them a wave like he’s some kind of celebrity.

As we round the corner near the duck pond, Mitchell suddenly positions himself right behind me, tugging on the leash a little.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” he says, trying not to laugh already.

I know exactly what’s coming. This is our thing. The setup is too perfect.

I stop walking, brace myself dramatically, and push one out. A solid, respectable fart that echoes just enough to be heard.

Mitchell absolutely loses it. He’s doubled over, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “Dude! The timing! The delivery!” he wheezes.

I’m cracking up too now. “What can I say? I’m a professional.”

“Your form was impeccable,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Ten out of ten.”

A jogger passes us, headphones in, completely oblivious to what just happened. Probably for the best.

“You know what?” Mitchell says, catching his breath. “This is exactly what I needed today. Just… stupid, ridiculous fun.”

“Same, man. Same.”

We keep walking, the leash still connecting us like the world’s weirdest buddy system. The sun’s starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the grass. Somewhere nearby, kids are playing frisbee. A dog barks in the distance.

“Think we should do another lap?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” Mitchell says. “But fair warning—I had beans for lunch.”

I groan. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

And just like that, we’re off again, two idiots in a park, laughing at fart jokes like we’re twelve years old. Honestly? Best Saturday in a while.