I need to be able to fart in front of my boyfriends.
I just do.
In fact, I consider it a sign of true love. If you can find someone who makes you feel comfortable enough to let rip at will, then you, my friend, have found a love for the ages. Don’t ever let it go.
I once had a boyfriend who refused to acknowledge that women have any kind of bowel function, gas or otherwise. The idea of anything other than a perfumed stream of glitter piss coming out of me when I sat on the toilet was abhorrent to him. Actually, I think the fact there was a toilet in my house at all made him uncomfortable.
But farting was his major kryptonite. He couldn’t handle any kind of air coming out of a female’s bum – and it stressed me out so much I ended up with a serious and legitimate case of fart poisoning.
I discovered his phobia one night when the two of us were sitting in bed watching TV together, and an involuntary fart burst out of me before I could stop it. I thought it was kind of a cute fart, to be honest. It certainly wasn’t one of those ones that make you worry about the person. There’s no way it could be considered close to ‘shart’ territory, let’s put it that way.
Just a little pop that I wasn’t expecting; which I didn’t think twice about and immediately laughed off.
My boyfriend did not share my nonchalance about the situation.
His whole body went rigid. His head slowly and dramatically turned towards me, a look of disgust on his face that should really be reserved for somebody who just got busted watching animal porn. Or The Big Bang Theory.
“What?” I asked, a little taken aback.
My question was met with horrified silence.
He turned his head back away from me (still slowly, still dramatically), and sat for a moment, staring straight ahead, in what appeared to be disbelief. Then he snapped into action. He got out of bed and, without saying a word, walked to the bathroom and washed his hands. HE WASHED HIS HANDS. Because I farted.
He barely spoke to me for the rest of night. I’ve never been so ashamed of something coming out of body – and I once drunkenly puked up the first half of a kebab while I was still eating the second half. And I finished the second half.
From that point on, I was too petrified to ever fart in front of him, which obviously meant I was then desperate to do it all the time.
You know when you promise yourself you’re not going to eat sugar, and after 48 hours you’ve become so obsessed with sugar that you end up at a convenience store at 3am, pouring Skittles into a pink and green slushie? That was me, but with farts.