The Girl That I Marry

The original Irving Berlin lyrics to that song include things like, "The girl that I marry will have to be as soft and as pink as a nursery." I spent most of the day exchanging emails with a friend of mine who I feel may very well have the one characteristic I haven't been able to find in a woman and the one characteristic that might reflect a truly healthy romantic relationship for me: I think she's the girl I can fart in front of.

Now, now, just hear me out. And yes, I know I ended not only a sentence but a whole paragraph with a preposition, but get over it. Because I think she's the girl I can fart in front of and I'm not ashamed to say it! I come from hideously flatulent parents, one of whom is dead and one of whom is thoroughly embarrassed right about now (thanks for coming down here to take care of me, Moo!) My parents made a sport of their gas. My mother has friends she's had since kindergarten who have had to listen to her toot through the decades. She must be one hell of a friend, because I can't imagine anyone putting up with that unless there was a good tradeoff. My father would routinely use his "skills" as a way to embarrass me in public. His fave move was dropping a random bomb in public and then blaming it on me. I can still hear the disgusted cries of the grocery store patrons as they unknowingly walked into his wall of sulfur while we had already moved several aisles away. Oh, the humanity.

But I digress. I was a hostage to my parents' noises and smells throughout my childhood and somehow rebelled and wound up barely flatulent. I'm sure I produce gas, but my body must reabsorb it or something. Maybe I get it all out by belching after a few beers. Who knows? But I am human and I do need to squeak a few out occasionally. I have one hard and fast rule however -- never does this occur in front of another person!! The horror! I can't even imagine. I've had a couple LTRs and I've lived with friends and lovers before, but I have never willingly let fly in front of them. One or two have slipped out and they're still a great source of shame. I know, I know, everyone poots, but for whatever reason, I can't unless solo. And it doesn't really bother me when someone else does. I just can't do it.

But this girl, there's something about her. I think she's the one. The one with whom I'd feel so totally comfortable and at ease and accepted, that I could just blast away. Where's my Kleenex? I'm getting all choked up here. Alas, we may never find out, my friends. She's really not into me that way even though she knows about the flatulence thing. It's just so hard to woo women these days. Wish me luck and if you're ever with me -- whatever you smelled, there's no way in hell it was me!