I met my husband when I was 22 years old. We were in a human cadaver lab together. It just seemed like the right environment to fall in love. We studied anatomy (very very thoroughly) and somewhere along the way ended up becoming more than lab partners. I clearly remember the first few all nighters – sorry, no sexual inappropriateness coming…
I had gas. Oh, such college gas. Beer and burritos, the occasional fried egg. It was serious gas. I laid there for hours, trying to let a little squeak come out when I knew he was really sound asleep. Ah. Brief relief. Oh, but here it comes again. Is he still asleep? Oh god, that really smelled bad. Let’s see if he keeps breathing. If he wakes up he’s going to wonder what died in here? Oh, it was nothing, dear lab partner, just my dignity.
I really didn’t even enjoy those all nighters (at least not the sleeping part). In the morning I went home with a tummy ache and probably spent the next four hours farting. Ah. That’s better. Until the next time, my sweet prince.
Now we’re married. All of the sudden (well, almost 13 years later) nothing is Holy! Well, his underwear is, but that’s another story. It’s a miracle that we haven’t blown our neighborhood up with a gas leak! My bubble is floating, like a pink, shiny hot air balloon. It is just so full. I need a vent.
When we were in our early 30’s, my husband’s sphincter started to change. I think this happens to all men, I’m not sure. It was night-time. I was sleeping well. There was suddenly a huge clap of thunder and I screamed! Oh NO! It was not thunder, it was my husband’s glorious soon-to-be-dubbed “shot-gun fart.” I was seriously frightened. First of all, because the noise had scared me. Second, because I thought for sure he had expelled a vital organ with that push.
The situation has not improved over time. I admit, my body has changed, too. Of course, I haven’t decided if those changes are funny or not. I’m good at laughing at him though, so I’ll do that.
We are still married, with a kid and pets. My bubble is complete, and in serious need of a match. I wonder how people date at this age. I can’t imaging giving myself a stomach ache, holding in my mom-gas, at this age.
I remember hearing once that in the olden days, they had scented suppositories. I imagine that when the Queen tooted, it smelled like roses. I wonder if I would like that. It might scare me.
Unless it smelled like cookies.