Like everything in life, farts have a time and place.
However, one never realizes that in the wrong time and place, flatulence has enough power to alter course in history.
Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined this man and you to be together, this was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly”).
This happened about five years ago when Jenny was trying to lose a few pounds and was staying away from carbs. That’s when she met her husband, Rob. He liked Jenny. Jenny liked him. Things were looking real good.
Rob picked her up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win her over with a car totally worked. Jenny’s not shallow, but since she spent most of her twenties picking men up because she didn’t want her hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, she welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
They arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food Jenny hadn’t allowed self to eat in years. She didn’t want to be “that girl” so she ate, drank, and oh, was she merry. Later they shopped a bit. Rob surprised her by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught her eyeing. Was this love?
That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. Jenny thought she was dying. Not to make a scene, she told Rob she suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold Jenny’s hand and ask her lots of questions, but she wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like she was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then she realized …
She had a horrendous fart on deck. She is in trouble. Big trouble.
HOW DO YOU TELL A MAN YOU JUST STARTED DATING, THAT THE REASON YOU ARE WRITHING IN PAIN IS BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO FART.
The more she held it in, the more pain would shoot through her stomach and down her legs. She was even having to raise self off the seat, gripping on to the door and the dashboard.
“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” Jenny managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like Jenny, let the fart speak for itself.
There was nothing Jenny could do. As impressive as she was with sphincter control, this was out of her hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more she tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to her pleasant surprise, there was no sound. Jenny sat silently, sweat accumulating above her upper lip. Ok, maybe she got away with it. Maybe she’s home free. Then it hit her. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.
Suddenly, she panicked. “Roll down the windows!” Jenny screamed (yes, she literally screamed it like those in a horror movie).
“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because she was freaking out.
“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back , “Why are you …” then it hit him. Jenny could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.
“Roll down the windows!” As Jenny screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. She scratched and clawed at the window like she was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. They were acting like they were under siege by gun fire. They were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. Both gulped in fresh air. Jenny was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered she just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished she was dead.
Both sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, Jenny now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to her apartment and before he could come to a stop Jenny had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to her apartment like she was running from the cops.
Jenny burst through the door and ran straight for the bathroom, where she was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then she heard it. Rob’s voice. Right outside her Bathroom door.
“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” Jenny scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
toot toot splatter ungodly noise
“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re …”
“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. Jenny thought that was the last she’d hear from him. She didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to her surprise, she did. A couple days later, actually. Now they’re married and he’s lying on the couch.
Love is a many splendoured thing.
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