Farts are almost always funny. I say almost, because sometimes farts make me mad instead of glad. Most of the time, farts make me feel giggly, relaxed and peaceful. Nothing gets me right like a powerful purging of poisonous gas after a weekend of summer festival binge eating or overdosing on veggies and ranch dip at a cookout, however sometimes farts make me furious and frustrated. They remind me that I’m getting old and although I cannot believe I’m actually admitting this, I confess that farts no longer hold the power to amuse me the way they used to. I’ll explain.
I am 43 years old and have been married for almost 20 years. I know, the idea that someone put up with my idiocy for that long is comical, but miraculously someone has, and continues to do so. I find it weird, but I have come to understand something about marriage that can only be understood by a person who has been in a committed relationship for a decade or so and that something is this – farts can help and hurt a relationship. Farts are powerful! Not because are they are a flammable gas or because some farts have been clocked at a speed of 10 feet per second either!
I’m sure you are like – WOW – and also thinking WTF? WHERE IS SHE GOING WITH THIS? I’m getting to that!
In his new book (click the word ‘book’ to check it out) chronicling his adventures in parenting, Drew Magary shares an emotional story about the day he and his wife learned that their seven weeks premature firstborn child suffered from intestinal malrotation, and had only a hot second to process the idea he might not survive a dangerous surgery to correct the problem. As they hugged and sobbed, desperately clinging to each other, grieving the frightening news, his wife cut a fart.
You read that right. SHE FARTED.
The tears turned into laughter and they found a way to endure the hellish nightmare together. Now that’s an example of funny and fabulous flatulence – first-rate farty-fart funny. That fart had the power to heal. (By the way, the little guy survived “having his intestines tossed.” He is happy and healthy, a typical a-hole kid, cherished by his parents, and can fart just like any other kid thankyouverymuch)
And now I’m just going to tell you why farts make me angry. Not just a little angry, but cartoon character with steam coming out of my ears angry. This didn’t used to be the case, but the wisdom I’ve gained in my 43 years resulted in a fart epiphany! Much like f-bombs and other things deemed socially inappropriate, there is a time and a place for farts, because farts really are powerful! And that time and place really needs to be considered by couples in a long-term relationship if they hope to maintain any sort of sex appeal for each other. After awhile, a couple has to work a bit harder to turn each other on, because time simply sucks dry the old stand by sexy stuff like perky boobs and a chiseled jawline, and replaces them with stuff saddle bags, beer bellies, and noses that have an inch (or six) of curly gray hair hanging out of them.
I shit you not when I say that I really don’t want to be downwind when my husband cuts the cheese, at least not when he does it on purpose for a laugh, and I certainly don’t get turned on when he says, “Pull my finger,” and blows a big one. I admit that I sometimes I find it funny though. I used to always find it funny, but after over 20 years together, that funny has lost some power. Like I said earlier – time and place. I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. Girls talk…
Anyway, over the years, I have attempted to avoid having my husband hear me having what Bella Swan would call “a human moment,” (I can work a Twilight reference into anything. Anything. It’s a gift really…) and I have done my best to keep up my appearance (without surgery or other chemical enhancements aside from the one time I tried Botox and spent three months looking like David Spade’s character when he got caught masturbating in the movie Tommy Boy) despite the inevitable and typical age and life related appearance changers suck as extra weight, wrinkles, scars, stretch marks, etc.
I can’t stop time from stealing my youth and I understand that stinky-poo farts are just an inevitable consequence of being a living, breathing human, but I don’t have to like these things or flaunt them; especially the farty-fart part! I cherish the miracle of my body, the way it’s built to take in and expel nourishment a certain way. It fascinates me that food looks so good before I put it in to my body, and then so god awful horrible when it comes out. Ah, but that, my friends, is life, and life is good. It’s precious and fragile, not to be taken for granted, much like romantic relationships. And I do not take my romance for granted.
For years I’ve read articles giving tips for a happy and healthy marriage and I have heard couples speak about the importance of keeping a relationship fresh. Well, farts aren’t fresh. Farts are rotten. They are funny sometimes, that I can’t deny, but they aren’t sexy. And so I’ve come to the conclusion that really the only thing I can control with regard to keeping things fresh, aside from regular bathing, wearing a good support bra and using ten gallons of moisturizer a week, is to smell as good as I possibly can around my husband, and that’s not going to happen if I rip out farts and act like the sound and smell is an aphrodisiac. Not like I did this before I came to this earth shattering insight about farts, but still, I now realize that I’ve got to hold on tight to whatever I can with regard to keeping up my sex appeal and one thing I can hold tight, are my butt cheeks.
You read that right. I’M NOT GOING TO FART PUBLICLY.
I can hold my old lady butt cheeks together, clinching them and shuffling as I get out of bed or leave the room to rip the rotten if the need arises, and god knows it will. I’m only human you know. I told my husband he needs to do the same and before he could argue about how inconvenient that would be, I reminded him that I’m not the only girl that doesn’t want to put up with that kind of yucky stinky butt stuff! “I mean, think about it,” I told him, “at this point, if we were to split up and he found some chicky-poo and got re-married, at our age, there would be a very good chance that she’d probably been married before, or at least in a long term relationship, and grew tired to pulling that guy’s finger as an attempt at foreplay, so why not just stay with me and stop the stink and spark the sexy!”
The look on his face was hysterical. Really, if I’d shit out a kitten right then and there, it would have surprised him less. It was funnier than the funniest fart I’ve ever heard and in 43 years, you know I’ve heard a LOT of farts.
Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. Maybe.
*This is not a sponsored post. I received no compensation aside from an early copy of Drew’s book, which I really enjoyed, because compared to him, I sound polite and adorable and downright fucking saintly, and that stops those dumb-shit Westboro Baptist people from picketing in front of my crib, ya know?*