Farting to the rescue

When we were kids farts were funny. You told fart jokes, made fart noises with your armpits and the palms of your hands, and crowned the king of farts. As we grew older farts became the one way to guarantee your alienation from any and all social groups. If you were unlucky enough to have one creep out on you, you were destined to be teased and humliated for the whole of your adolecence. This of course applied to boys only, because as girls we don't fart. We're incapable of doing so, we don't even have the proper organs to do so. Even Gallagher showcased our lack of flatulance in one of his skits stating "Women don't fart...they bitch." As unflattering as that may sound, it's quite true. While men grow up and end up reverting back to childish high fives for an "awesome fart man!". Women have learned to release this pent up energy through our constant nagging and bitching. It become twice as bad during "that time of the month" when our gas production goes into overdrive. While we may have the occasional "slip" we'd never admit to it. We hide, blame it on our chairs, or look around aimlessly for the unknown source of said noise.

However, everything we have learned as girls goes right out the window when we become pregnant. Gas production is at it's peak. Everything we eat gives us uncontrollable gas. And not just little toots or silent ones. We're talking about the ones you can hear for blocks and their so noxious it could clear a room. Unfortunately we pregnant women must fart or die. The gas pressure can build up so bad that it feels as if your stomach will explode. So farting is a welcome release, in privacy of course. Now the husband in our three years of being together, has yet to hear me fart. He claims it's a myth, a fabrication of my imagination. He just can't believe I fart! So naturally he doubts me when I tell him I can't stop farting. And it has become his latest obsession. He gets mad when I don't fart around him, or if I fart and he's not there. He's tried sneaking up on me, sitting outside the bathroom door listening, and waking up in the middle of the night to listen. As he puts it "I just have to smell one of these doozies you keep talking about". And thus proves that within each of us lies the mind of a small child.