Overheard late Saturday PM -- A random post that turned into a shameless plea for a book deal.

C'mon guys. You know how Mom feels about farting in peoples' faces.

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Yes, this is true. I do have a distinct No Farting in Peoples' Faces Rule in this house. And I've had to, on more than one occasion, make my distaste for this unpleasant act known.

There also are rules against Burp Blowing and Stuffing Faces into Stinky Armpits -- an edict I had to quickly draft Friday night while getting the kids off to bed.

The reason these are hard rules and not simply house guidelines stems back to my childhood. As a young girl with three brothers, I was frequently subjected to forced smelling of their various body parts/functions -- not to mention countless forehead thwaps, sternum thumps, noogies and pink bellies.

(Also, I was awakened more than once via Chinese Water Torture, my bed surrounded by two-thirds of the WHS varsity football team. As an adult, I find this scenario mildly arousing, but as an insecure 14 year-old with crushes on half the guys, it was less than thrilling.)

So, my rules are intended to protect the innocent, weaker children of the household -- rules I wish were in place for me, between the ages of 5 and 17.

Having two girls and one boy, I thought The Gross inflicted among this pack of siblings would be significantly less than in a house where testosterone tips the scales of sibling justice. I was wrong. First-born girl sibs are just as quick to flex their disgustingness to prove their superiority to the younguns. Guaranteed.

So it's my duty to protect little Crowbar from his sisters and enforce these rules to the best of my ability -- and to impose swift and creative justice when these rules are broken.

I believe in delivering consequences that teach something, while delivering me from unpleasant chores, so here's the penalty scale for infractions:

• Farting in Peoples' Faces: Scrub the all the toilets in the house -- they're woefully overdue for a cleaning.
• Burp Blowing: Clear the moldy leftovers out of the fridge -- this includes opening the Tupperware containers I'm afraid of.
• Stuffing Faces into Stinky Armpits: Rummage through the dirty laundry and turn out all the balled-up stinky sweat socks.

Again, all this will soon be found in the best-selling parent handbook I intend to write -- The Apathetic Parent. I just need a hefty advance so I can go on sabbatical and pen the damn thing.

Note to prospective book publishers: I can be reached via the About Me section of this blog. This book will be a mega-hit. I promise. Quirky. Cutting edge. Revolutionary. Hire me. You won't be sorry.