It's a daily experience where my husband will walk near me and expel gas from his intestines outward.
Not a worry of me passing out. No concern for my clean air. Nor my contented breathing or oxygen comfort.
Nope. He just lets them go wherever he feels....in the kitchen, in the car, while we are eating. No warning, no mention, just out it comes.
I guess he is just comfortable...with me....in his home...as we all should be.
Yes...all of us.
Last night I let one go in our bathroom with my oldest standing next to me. I rarely do this. I hold them tight till they suffocate into mere nothings. But on this night, I had a tummy ache and didn't care. This one was nasty. (You know how yours always smell good to just you. Not today, I almost choked.)
My son shouted, "What is that horrid smell?" He ran out of the room and tears almost fell out with my intense laughter. But I stopped quickly because in a few moments my husband was in the room with the other kids and suddenly he stops and says, "Who pooped and didn't flush?"
I watched him walk to the toilet and see it was empty as he commented, "What is that smell?"
Trying not to laugh (it's a dead giveaway when I'm guilty of anything) I put my face in a towel and said, "See! You do it 80 times a day and we all suffer! Now you know how it feels."
Not even thinking it was me, he doesn't think women do that, he leaves for two minutes coming back with an 80lb can of Lysol from the garage and starts spraying the bathroom. I didn't even know we had that can!
It was all too much...I was going to blow (no pun intended) my cover....so I laid down with my face and stifled my laughter in the pillow.
Did I ever tell?
Maybe not ever.