It's a Gas

This post is divinely guided. As I quieted my mind to get in touch with my true spirit, I set my intention to select a blog topic for this week.  I heard God whisper to me, “Pull my finger.” It seems that my true spirit is indeed timeless! And perhaps stuck in a perpetual juvenile state. So if you’ve come here today looking for inspiration, may I recommend expiration instead.

Growing up, there was often open, sometimes disgusting, always hilarious conversation about all digestive topics. Very early on, my brother recognized that, in smelling a fart, one is literally inhaling poo molecules. You get to choose how: through your nose or through your mouth. To this day, audible farting during meals really gets my hackles up. You’re seasoning everyone’s food with your poo! You should not do that!! Just keep it quiet and nobody will get hurt. I know, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m no Ruth Bader Ginsberg, that’s for sure.

Tooting has intrigued and entertained me since I can remember. I had a friend in junior high who could fart on command. She called them “Artificial Toots.” She would get down on her hands and knees and kind of arch her back and stick her butt up in the air and let it rip. It was EXTRAORDINARY!! I tried and tried on my own to accomplish this feat at home but could never cultivate the talent. After several months of diligent effort, I gave up. I have accepted that I will never be a competent Artificial Tooter, juggler, or hip hop dancer. I’m comfortable with that.

Also in junior high was a warm day I was sitting on a cinderblock wall with my girlfriend. I was wearing my favorite sundress, which was white and decorated with colorful hot air balloons. Cherokee wedges were all the rage.

But I was rocking knock-off  rubber-soled wedges. You see, my mom would not allow me to wear such a high heel and didn’t find value in spending $40 even for a pair of shoes as dazzling as these. My mom is notorious for spending as little as possible on clothes. “Look at this jacket! It was marked down to $15 at Ross, so I waited until Senior Tuesday, and by that time it was on the clearance rack for 50% off, so I bought it for $6.75!” My mom always looks great.

So….sundress with hot air balloons, knock-off Cherokees, AND gold-rimmed aviator glasses….not SUNGLASSES, mind you….legit, glasses. And materials weren’t as sophisticated in 1980, so they were T.H.I.C.K.  Coke bottle glasses. So retro.

This ensemble was made complete by my aggressively feathered hair. My straight, heavy, Chinese hair is not easily manipulated. I used to spend an hour curling my hair and carefully coating it with hair spray. By the end of the day, the curls sagged and kind of stuck straight out of my head like open cabinet doors.

All this is to say that I was looking FOINE that afternoon when a cute boy approached us. We were all friends, and he was smiling. Teasingly, he grabbed my shoulders and pretended to push me off the wall while simultaneously pulling me back toward him so that I wouldn’t actually fall. I was surprised and let out a little yelp. Simultaneously, I blammed out a GIANT fart. *POOT!!* It was loud and airy and most certainly heard for miles around. Forty years later, this trauma is seared into my memory. This guy and I are friends on Facebook. I wonder whether he remembers this. Perhaps we will all find out.

Yoga farts test me, because I have to focus SO HARD on not giggling. It’s natural! They can’t help it. Do people get embarrassed when they step on a duck during yoga class? It just seems to happen so often. I guess it means they’re relaxed, but for Heaven’s sake. Sometimes the effort not to laugh causes tears to leak from my eyes. Namaste.

A historically significant fart in my life occurred UPSTAIRS in my house, and I heard it from the kitchen DOWNSTAIRS. To be fair, I don’t think that the fart was actually that loud. Albert must have been sitting on the floor packing or folding laundry, and the sound traveled through the floor. Through many layers of carpet and padding, insulation and wood, and whatever else a house is made of. Kind of remarkable, don’t you think? When I understood what I had heard, I was FLATTENED by tears of laughter. I had to sit on the floor, and my dog got a little worried. Naturally, I texted Albert immediately that I had heard his fart. He loves it when I recognize the little things he does.

The times that I DON’T find farts funny are when Albert farts me awake. I wake up grouchy. SOME of my sisters and daughters may even say that I wake up angry and violent. Farts are NOT FUNNY while I’m sleeping. Farting MYSELF awake is usually preceded by dreams of bees or other insects trapped in my pants before I become lucid. It’s frightening and terrible.

I’ll end this post with my favorite fart joke.

            Q: Why do cherry trees smell bad?

            A: Because George Washington cut one.

Everyone farts. Don't be ashamed! But also don't get mad at me if I crack up. I have no control over myself.

Thanks for reading! I’m truly honored that so many of you take time to read about the kooky thoughts that occupy my mind. I hope my posts bring you joy. And that you’ll still be my friend after learning about what’s REALLY going on inside my noggin.

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