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Written by Heather Miller
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Wednesday, 03 May 2006 |
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My future husband and I had been dating only a few months when I committed the ultimate date faux-pas: I farted in front of him.
We were sitting in his basement, watching a Seinfeld re-run and I was laughing so hard that I let a little one fly. We were still at the giddy, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-of-each-other, twitterpated, lovesick stage of our relationship. The split second after it happened, I thought for sure, he would never call me again. Our whole relationship began flashing before my eyes.
To hide my embarrassment, I just kept laughing. He looked a little grossed out at first but my laugh was so contagious that he began laughing too.
I look back on that incident as one of the defining moments of our relationship. Up until that point, I had tried to be perfect in front of him and, I gotta tell ya, that’s a lot of pressure. I wanted him to think I was the ultimate female specimen. I even took it so far as to NEVER use the bathroom at his house.
After the fart, I actually told him about the bathroom rule and he laughed saying only: “That must have been very uncomfortable for you.” It was.
Four years later, I can’t believe what an idiot I was. Not only could I have given myself a painful and serious infection, but he probably thought it was a lot weirder that I never had to go to the bathroom at all — like I was some sort of camel able to go for days without having to relieve myself.
Ah, the joys of young love. In other words, trying to make someone realize you are a suitable mate and not a disgusting pig. Before I coupled, I wouldn’t have thought twice about cutting the cheese in front of my friends and family. I eat a lot of vegetables and they know me well. But once you add the possibility of sex into the equation, all bets are off. After all, who could possibly be sexy emitting anal eruptions that could measured on the Richter Scale? (I said I eat A LOT of veggies!)
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind. When you are in love it doesn’t really matter. We’re all human and I am willing to bet everyone farts. On a scale of 1 to 10, compulsive farting shouldn’t be a deal breaker.
In fact, it’s proven to be quite endearing in my relationship. I spent so much time and effort trying to be perfect and in the end it didn’t really matter. Because being perfect isn’t the ultimate prize. Being comfortable enough to rip a good one in front of your significant other. That’s the real prize.
Heather Miller is a newlywed living in Greeley. She has never given her husband a dutch-oven. | Only registered users can write comments.
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