BOSTON.  Amanda Mooring is an empty nester whose new freedom has allowed her to travel internationally for the first time, and she admits she was surprised at the cultural differences she encountered. ”We took a trip to the French Riviera and realized just how uptight Americans are,” she says as she sips green tea in her condo overlooking the Charles River.  “Where you get one party kiss per person at a typical gala in Boston, in France you can expect two or even three cheek-brushing air buses, and I don’t mean the French airplane company.”

 
Genuine phony laughter.

So Mooring and her friend Mindy Hilfitz, who between them sit on the gala dinner committees of over twelve charities, decided to up the ante to address what they say is America’s “party kiss” deficit.

Mindy Hilfitz, Amanda Mooring and Mr. Mooring in drag

“The party kiss is so artifical,” Hilfitz says, “and you don’t have time to greet everyone, so you can’t just multiply the number of kisses the way the French do.”  The two socialites’ solution?  “Zerberts,” says Mooring emphatically.  “It’s time we livened up some of these stodgy affairs with the sound of a thousand farts erupting!”

The term “zerbert” refers to the act of placing one’s mouth against the skin of another person and blowing, which produces a sound that resembles flatulence.  It was popularized on the 1980′s television series “The Cosby Show,” in which it was spelled “XRBRT” in onomatopoeiac imitation of the sound it produces.

Practicing emergency zerbert procedure

While primarily practiced by toddlers and their parents, zerberts have entered the mainstream for a variety of reasons says Norman Zilkand, a professor of sociology at Faber College in Keokuk, Iowa.  “First, there’s been a general slackening of manners in America over the past sixty years,” he notes.  “And second, a zerbert is a fun, friendly way to change the subject when someone brings up politics or religion.”

As recognized leaders of their social set Hilfitz and Mooring are in a position to influence others, and as they chat with friends during the pre-dinner cocktail hour their novel mode of greeting soon has imitators.  Clarice Watkins, a local news anchor who will serve as mistress of ceremonies, notices the sea change and decides to give Alice Grinier, a long-lost college classmate, an exploratory zerbert to join the fun.

“Who cut the cheese?”

“Clarice!” Alice cries out as she sees her old friend across the shrimp bar.

“Alice!” Clarice responds before placing her glossy lips on her friend’s neck and blowing hard, startling Eldredge Berry, a trustee emeritus of the sponsor charity with the “BRAAAP!” sound she makes.

“Excuse me,” Berry says as he turns around.  “I had the split pea soup at my club for lunch.”