It is just a little gas!

In the quiet, hallowed halls of Saint Jude’s Parish, the air was usually thick with the scent of beeswax and incense, but lately, Father Dan had noticed something a bit more substantial. During his weekly rounds at the convent, he found himself repeatedly crossing paths with Sister Ann. Ann was a woman of quiet grace, known for her devotion and her remarkably demure nature, but Father Dan couldn’t help but notice that her physical profile was changing with the seasons.

“Sister Ann,” Father Dan began one afternoon, his eyes drifting suspiciously toward her midsection, which seemed to be straining against the dark fabric of her habit. “Are you… perhaps putting on a little holiday weight?”

Sister Ann didn’t miss a beat. She smoothed the front of her apron with a serene smile. “Oh, no, Father,” she replied with a humble bow of her head. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just a little gas.”

A few months passed, and the situation developed significantly. On his next visit, Father Dan watched as Sister Ann navigated the narrow corridor with the careful, rolling gait of someone carrying a heavy cargo. Her habit was no longer merely snug; it was stretched to its absolute structural limit. “Sister,” he inquired again, his brow furrowed in genuine concern. “That seems like quite an ailment you’re suffering from.”

“Just a bit of gas, Father,” she whispered, a faint blush creeping up her neck as she hurried toward the chapel.

The mystery was finally solved a few weeks later. Father Dan was walking toward the rectory when he saw Sister Ann emerging from the garden. This time, she wasn’t walking alone; she was wheeling a pristine, navy-blue baby carriage. The priest stopped, adjusted his glasses, and peered over the edge of the pram. Inside lay a rosy-cheeked, slumbering infant. Father Dan looked at the baby, then back at Sister Ann, and finally back at the child.

“Well,” the priest remarked, a dry wit dancing in his eyes. “That is certainly one cute little fart.”

Humor, much like faith, often finds itself in the most unexpected places—sometimes in a convent, and sometimes in the living room of an elderly parishioner. Later that same week, Father Dan decided to pay a surprise visit to Mrs. Smith, a pillar of the community who had recently celebrated her eighty-fifth birthday.

“Good day, Mrs. Smith,” Father Dan said as the door creaked open. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d see how you were getting along.”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine, Father! Come in, come in,” she chirped, ushering him toward a plush armchair. “I’ll put the kettle on for some tea.”

As they sat at the lace-covered coffee table, Father Dan’s eyes landed on a crystal bowl filled with large, glistening almonds. They looked particularly appetizing. “Mind if I have one of these, Mrs. Smith?” he asked.

“Not at all, Father. Please, help yourself. Have as many as you like.”

The conversation flowed easily, moving from the upcoming church bake sale to the state of the garden. Throughout the visit, Father Dan found himself absentmindedly reaching for the almonds, one after another, until the bowl was nearly empty. Suddenly, he checked his watch and gasped. “Oh my goodness, look at the time! I’ve stayed far too long. And oh dear… Mrs. Smith, I’m terribly embarrassed. I’ve eaten every single one of your almonds. I’ll be sure to bring you a fresh bag when I return next week.”

Mrs. Smith patted his hand with a toothless, gummy grin. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Father. Truly, it’s no bother at all. You see, ever since I lost all my teeth, I can’t actually chew them. It’s all I can do just to lick the chocolate off them and put them back in the bowl.”

Father Dan’s afternoon didn’t get any less complicated. On a particularly sweltering Thursday, he joined his good friends, a local Minister and a Rabbi, for a long-planned hike through the Secluded Pines trail. By midday, the humidity was stifling, and the three men of the cloth were sweating profusely through their clerical collars.

Fortune seemed to favor them when they stumbled upon a hidden, pristine lake with a stretch of white sand. Seeing no one around for miles, they decided to indulge in a bit of refreshing, albeit unorthodox, recreation. They left their clothes in a neat pile on a large fallen log and dashed into the cool, clear water for a much-needed swim.

They were halfway back to their clothes, dripping wet and feeling revitalized, when the sound of chatter echoed from the trail. A group of ladies from the local town committee was heading straight toward the beach for a nature walk. Panic seized the trio. With no time to reach their clothes, the Minister and the Priest instinctively used both hands to cover their midsections as they bolted for the tall grass. The Rabbi, however, took a different approach—he clapped both hands firmly over his face and ran for the bushes.

Once the ladies had wandered off and the men were safely back in their trousers, the Minister looked at the Rabbi with confusion. “My friend, why on earth did you cover your face instead of your… well, you know?”

The Rabbi adjusted his hat and sighed. “I don’t know about you two, but in my congregation, it’s my face they would recognize.”

As evening fell, Father Dan found himself at a dinner party hosted by one of the parish’s young couples. The young man was introducing his fiancée to his rather traditional parents. The atmosphere was slightly stiff, as everyone was on their best behavior. However, nature has a way of disrupting even the most formal of occasions.

While the main course was being served, the young woman—overcome by nerves and a particularly spicy appetizer—unintentionally let out a small, quiet puff of gas. Mortified, she froze. The father-in-law, a stern man with a sharp nose, frowned and barked at the Golden Retriever sleeping beneath the girl’s chair: “Rocky!”

The girl breathed a secret sigh of relief. She was safe; the dog had taken the fall. Relaxing slightly, her stomach betrayed her again a few minutes later with a slightly louder “rip.”

The father-in-law’s brow darkened. He leaned over the table and yelled: “Rocky! Be careful now!”

Convinced she was home free and that Rocky was the ultimate social shield, the girl decided to stop fighting the internal pressure. She let out a final, resounding blast that echoed against the hardwood floors.

The father-in-law jumped to his feet, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. He pointed a finger at the dog and screamed: “Rocky! Get out of there fast! She’s gonna sh*t on you!”