Three days ago I involuntarily unleashed a sound and scent from my body that caused me to question my ability to love myself. I couldn’t even begin to think about how it affected my boyfriend who was standing a mere meter away. Sure, I’ve farted in front of him plenty of times before – hell; I’ve probably even farted on him, but this fart was different on so many levels.
Never before have I released gas that would have caused an echo if we were in a canyon. The noise rung out for longer than it takes for most British royalty to be announced – in fact that fart itself probably deserved its own royal title – it certainly was impressive. Though I can’t say my boyfriend felt the same way and as soon as the last note rang out I could feel a change between us – and it wasn’t just that the temperature had risen thanks to an increase in warm gasses, no it was something more complex than that. At first I didn’t think too much on it – he was on his way out the door to work but as I went to kiss him and he pulled away exclaiming “god it even smells bad too” and promptly walked out the door, I started to think that something was truly wrong.
As I continued my morning, spending far more time thinking about the fart than I should have, I began to wonder, would this be the gas that broke the camel’s back? Had my flatulence caused an irreparable rift between us? Would he ever be able to hold me tight again without being worried that he would squeeze another one out, producing further discomfort for his airways? I almost certainly ruled out ever being proposed to at that point – what if when gently placing the ring on my finger he gently tugged on it by accident?
Sure it was his idea to have Indian food the night before – so he couldn’t really blame anyone but himself. Everyone knows that Vindaloo is the ultimate wind breaking dishing, he really should have had a bit more foresight when jumping on Menulog but I guess I couldn’t lay the blame on him entirely, I could have held it in for a few more moments, though the sheer relief of letting that beast rip certainly can’t be put into words – despite the stench it caused.

He isn’t innocent either – I mean love is all shaved legs, tidy lady (and man) gardens and sweet smelling perfume when you’re first trying to impress each other but as soon as you shack up that seems to go out of the window. Never have I lived with a man who sheds so much body hair all over the house – I know the local plumber just as well as I do the guy at the bottle shop (which is pretty well, in case you needed clarification), my last live in boyfriend had less body hair than a baby dolphin and now I share a home with a yeti. He may be an adorable one, but he’s a messy yeti none the less.  Staring at clumps of man hair in the shower is gross. As is having to yell for him to bring you toilet paper because you’re stuck on the loo with none, as he neglected to replace the roll after his last visit – so maybe he deserved the fart. Yeah, unbeknownst to me at the time, it was a revenge fart – for all the times that he’s been an icky manly man. One time he even drooled on my pillow, so yeah, he deserved to suffer through that stench – and instead of being ashamed of my fart I decided to Google the world’s longest fart. I’ve got a bit of training to make it to the 2 minute, 42 second world record but luckily there are plenty of useful food options within a short stroll.

P.S somehow he still loves me…which I think says a lot about him, but I’ll leave it up to you to work out what that actually is.