real life

ROSIE: "I need to be able to fart in front of my boyfriend."

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.

Rosie Waterland: Brave survivor 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.

I feel ya, sister.

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.

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I became obsessed with farting.

I came up with a secret system, where I would hold it all in until I was sure he was asleep. Then I would reach down under the covers and spread my bumcheeks, so that the air could flow out without making any noise. It kind of sounded like a breathy, elegant “puh”. Sort of how you imagine Kate Middleton would fart.

The only problem was, once I had silently let the farts out, there was nowhere for them to go. I had to keep them trapped under the covers for fear the smell would wake him up. And if one little pop made him wash his hands, I assumed 12 farts trapped under the doona would lead to some kind of heavy-duty hose-down situation in the front yard.

So there I was, for months and months, waiting for him to fall asleep so I could spread my cheeks and set silent gas-balls free into the universe. Even in the middle of summer, I would keep the doona tightly clamped around my body; a bizarre little Dutch oven sweat lodge of shame.

It was a traumatic time.

The plan’s one fatal flaw was revealed when he woke up one night and lifted the doona. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to be hit right in the face with that epic wall of gas. I think I saw tears in his eyes.

He slept on the couch.

After that, secret systems were out. If I was ever going to fart, just to be safe, it needed to be when he wasn’t within a 10-kilometre radius of my current location.

I knew the relationship was doomed when I started to choose farting over him. Some nights I would avoid sleepovers just so I could stay home on my own and fart in peace. Without all the guilt. Without all his looks.

I was essentially picking farts over orgasms. It was never going to work.

I may have made it out of that relationship, but I ended up with some serious baggage. Even though my heart knows the love of my life needs to be someone I can fart around, my head is stopping me from completely letting go.

My current boyfriend says he would find it endearing if I farted in front of him, but I just can’t trust it. I’m still too traumatised from my last experience. It’s going to take me a while to open up again. Literally.

For more hilarity from Rosie, be sure to check out out Rosie Recaps from this years season of The Bachelor:

Episode 4

Episode 3

Episode 2

Episode 1

You should follow Rosie Waterland on Facebook right here. Also, she’s written her first book (which she thinks is quite humorous) and it’s coming out soon. Pre-order it by clicking RIGHT HERE. 

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