What’s that dear? I farted on you last night? While I was asleep? You woke me and I told you to fuck off?
That really doesn’t sound like me and forgive me because having gas in my own home, in my own bed, where I should feel the power of liberty, is…unacceptable.
Oh it’s not? I thought that would be the reason you were so upset. Oh dear, let’s get to the bottom of this.
I farted on you.
In my sleep.
I didn’t say sorry.
I did seem pretty tired.
This has never happened before?
And you still felt disrespected?
Oh forgive me, grossed out?
Ah see I thought you’d feel some disrespect similar to what I felt before we had that talk about you not farting under the sheets. Or something like when I get heated finding your turds swimming around rent free.
How about those times you’ve snuck into my bathtime to relieve your shit storm. That was fun.
But, you didn’t feel that kind of disrespect, just got a little grossed by my flatulence.
Perhaps I won’t be gassy if I stopped eating? Yes, to stop eating would be silly. A diet of crackers and watermelons would make you happy? Would your nightmare go away then? Knowing your wife was a few bites away from the emergency room?
What’d you say my love? I’m taking this a bit far? It was only some gas you say?
Ah. Well my darling, here’s what it is; I fart, I poop, I even bleed out my vagina five days a month and still slap on makeup to feel fabulous. I can spend a morning cleaning up toys, an afternoon answering questions like why is yogurt creamy and still make my date night look seem effortless.
I can also close my legs and consider having a closed shop for an undetermined length of time while you grovel on the left side of the bed. You know what else I can do? Fart on you for taking me away from finishing dinner.
Are we done here?
Nathline is a mama by day and a big time ice cream connoisseur by night. In her spare time, she writes parenting articles and day dreams about world peace. You can find her over at writeapparently.com