Sunday, February 19, 2012


A friend recently posted on Facebook about farting, or rather,
the odoriferous vapors emanating from the general direction of her husband
after a meal of bean soup.
Shortly after that, we had a get-together at her house,
whereupon she was presented with a gas mask & a bottle of Beano.

Got me to thinking. BS has no problem whatsoever about... uh... releasing the pressure, so to speak.
And the silence of the valve opening (sometimes) is remarkable.
Suddenly, I am surrounded by a cloud of his digestive processes that seemed to come out of nowhere.
He is particularly fond of doing this when we are in the car and the windows are closed.
This is followed either by looks of complete innocence or a maniacal laugh,
depending on his whim.
I have actually had to pull over to the side of the road until the miasma cleared.

What is it about men and their misplaced pride in their bodily emanations?
Just don't get it.
"Dude, I let one rip that was so bad it killed the hamster."
"Man, that's nuthin'. I took a dump that looked just like a dachshund. Shoulda sold it on eBay."

My beloved sister (not sayin' which one) is particularly fond of letting one go when we are out together,
then looking at me with horror & shame,
letting anyone around us know, in no uncertain terms,
that I was the one with no social graces whatsoever.

Me? I have never been able to be so free with the after-effects of my digestion.
No one will like me anymore.
Seriously, this is what the demons whisper in my ear.
So, I suffer until I can get to a place where such things are permissible,
like my own bathroom,
or the great outdoors,
where there is sufficient space between me and any other humanity.
Until then, the pressure builds, sometimes with visible & painful swelling....

During all those years when I was living alone and had the whole house to myself,
this was not a problem.
I could toot away to my heart's content and no one would think I was gross. Or human.

Now, however, M&M is in close proximity,
and we have developed an ease & comfort level between us
that allows me to let him see me with dirty hair and no makeup.
Oh, believe me, that's a big deal, let me tell you.
But smelly gasses?
Umm, well, no.
It's a small house & he is usually within smelling distance.
I just. can't. do. it.
Don't know if I will ever be comfortable enough around him to make him aware that
my intestines work just like everyone else's.

Here's a handy guide to let you know when to reveal your bodily functions in front of your man:


Rosie Hawthorne said...

Mr. Hawthorne has a theory about this since, of course, I have no intestinal motility and never have. He says since I don't release normally, that all that's withheld travels up my spine and gives me shitty ideas.

Owner of the gas mask! said...

I'm pretty sure my "other half" created the fart from hell. I keep a fan beside my bed to cover up the noises that come from his temple of doom. When the noise comes with the odor...I quickly grab the fan and turn it across me in hopes the the cold wind will push it back his direction. Can't say it always works, but it does make him shout "turn that blizzard the other direction!". NOT UNTIL I CAN BREATHE AGAIN!!! However, after over 38yrs. of marriage, I WILL hunt him down if I feel even the slightest bubble of gas developing. I believe in SHARING!!

Anonymous said...

Believe it or not, I fall into your camp. Now, can we change to subject....

Marilyn said...

I, of course, am above such things. But man, don't believe the innocent look the cat gives you after he lets one rip!

My problem is that I live in a household of belchers - and my darling daughter is the queen belcher. She used to make the football players jealous of her abilities!