A Comfortable Conversation About…
Short excerpt from tonight’s writing session: note, it’s pretty dumb, but with all the sadness going around lately, kind of felt like I had to go in the exact opposite route and just write about farts….I had no choice.
A lot of people track the history of their lives in ‘firsts,’ I just mostly graph mine in farts.
…Here’s the thing though, my family being basically a fartbox symphony, makes me really really comfortable with my natural bodily function, so the concept rarely embarrasses me and I think it’s safe to say, we should all be a little bit thankful for the things that don’t add another facet of humiliation to our lives. In fact, it’s one of the constants in my life I can absolutely depend on to make me laugh, so, yeah, if that makes me immature and gross, I’m fine with it.
The first time I ever remember farting in front of someone other than family, I was in preschool, no idea how old that would make me, but it’s also one of the ONLY clear memories I have of being miniature me.
My class had all been taken on a bathroom break, and obviously that shit had to be orchestrated like a tactical maneuver. You can’t just tell a five-year-old to have at it and motion them outside the classroom, into the halls by themselves, especially, if one went, more would want to follow and before you knew it, it’d be anarchy and little kids would be peeing and pooping on anything and everything, and there are not enough teacher’s aides in the world to contain that.
We had just all went through the motions as if on a conveyer belt, and when we were finished doing our business, we’d all line up in the hall in two columns quietly. That day, I had the prettiest white lace southern bell dress on, and I admired it as I stood there in line, looking down past my little belly and to the skirt of the dress thinking, “Damn, just look at that poof, it’s so freaking poofed I can’t even right now, I am looking fabulous with my poof,” well, it was probably something along those lines anyway.
Zoned out, digging myself, I almost didn’t hear Ms. Hanna kneel down behind me and say something in my ear.
“Laura, you’re dress is tucked in your undies, pull that out right now,” she scolded, then turned to Bobby who was standing behind me to talk to him about not looking at my butt while I straightened myself out.
I was so angry, angry that this lady implied I smushed the back of my dress into my underwear on purpose and now she was mad at me. Just as she was about to stand up from behind me, I straight tooted in her face, it kind of went “beerp.” She gasped in shock while still kneeling back there and her eyes got really big when I turned around and looked her dead in the eyes. A couple other kids heard and giggled with delight.
“Laura,” she said, and kept her mouth open in awe. Ewww, it probably got in her mouth now that I think back to it.
“What,” I asked, and turned around to face forward. I’d only wished her eyes had been watery too, after that sneak attack bomb I dropped.
I’m pretty impressed with my actions that day, I wouldn’t say I tried to fart in her face, but I’ll also say, I didn’t hold it in either. What’s even more impressive, is this was all before I knew farts were funny because grandpa hadn’t even taught me how the “Pull My Finger Game,” worked at Thanksgiving dinners. My friends, that is genetics at work, it was ingrained in my very being.
I don’t know how many times I’ve been on an airplane, headphones in my ears and book in hands, content to just sit and not do anything else for the whole the flight. I get super calm when the stewardesses do their thing and explain how seat belts work.
Sometimes I get a little too relaxed though. Too many times, I’m listening to music and accidently let a fart pop out. Immediately my eyes flick back and forth to the people sitting next to me, in a slight panic, the rest of my body frozen. DID THEY HEAR, DID THEY HEAR, I DON’T KNOW IF THEY HEARD, THE MUSIC MUFFLED IT, OH MY GOD, IT DIDN’T JUST SLIDE OUT, IT JUMPED OUT AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW LOUD IT WAS. Then I pray to Odin that it doesn’t smell, please don’t let it smell. I don’t’ know why airplanes are the only times I’m embarrassed about farting, well, work in progress I guess.