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Lady Farts

As a lady, one thing I am not supposed to talk about is farts. I am not sure why they are so taboo for a lady to do. Maybe because one has to picture a lady sphincter opening up to release a noxious, feces scented, vapor. This is hard for the human mind to conceive, because one also does not enjoy envisioning a lady depositing waste from her anus. As far as civilization is concerned, things should only be going in a woman’s derrière, not out.

Let me take a moment to apologize for the female gender, and admit that despite how tight we might clench, eventually substances of a variety of forms may exit our rumps. We will go through great lengths to do such things in private, so as not to violate the lady code, but there may be a moment of weakness when the gluteus Maximus is not quite strong enough to withstand the impending pressure of biology. It is never our intention to assault one’s perception of ladyness with the disgrace of our physical ecosystem, yet I hope that you, my gracious reader, can excuse the inevitable need to momentarily prioritize anatomy over convention.

Even I, your humble servant, am committed to proper ladylike conduct and rarely expose an audience to my fumes. If such an event were to occur, I would of course blame it on my canine Mona to maintain integrity. I also make sure to eat a steady organic diet that does not vary in texture or flavor to ensure such a ghastly event would rarely take place. A lady of course considers the consequences of her digestion before the indulgence of ingestion.

Yet over the weekend I was frequenting a variety of engagements that impacted my normal régime. The consequences of my actions were dire, and that evening while I was putting my sweet child to bed, I had what one might quantify as “the farts.” I was trying to be discreet, but The Munch was sitting on my lap, and I felt one coming on.

Toni: Munch, go do potty so we can brush your teeth and go to bed.
Munch: But I don’t want to do potty… I want you to tickle me first.
Toni: First potty, then I will tickle you… Go now Munch – I mean it.

The Munch started sliding off my lap, yet not at a speed fast enough to compete with the processing of my intestines. Her slither off my legs was not only ill timed, but also ill placed – and I ended up farting on her head.

Munch: Ew. What is that smell? It smells like Mona farted, but she is downstairs.
Toni: I farted.
Munch: MOM! WHY DID YOU DO THAT! I CAN’T DO POTTY IN HERE OR BRUSH MY TEETH. I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM DOWNSTAIRS.

Although it was of course upsetting to have violated The Munch’s perception of her culturally appropriate mother, I also did become aware of the great power of my gas. After we did our night time routine of story and back tickling, it was time for me to leave and go downstairs to do what adults do in the late evening hours… sit on their computers.

Toni: Alright Munch, sleep well. I am going downstairs.
Munch: No! Keep cuddling… just stay and cuddle for five more minutes.
Toni: Five minutes, and then bedtime.
Munch: Okay… I promise.

Five minutes later…

Toni: That’s five minutes. I love you. Sleep well.
Munch: No Mamma, please stay for a little longer and keep cuddling.
Toni: Munch I have to go or else I am going to fart in your bed.
Munch: Okay goodnight Mamma. See you in the morning.

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