Apparently all farts aren’t created equal.
I’m tired of it. I’m sick of the discrimination and the banishment. Why am I destined to live life as a second class citizen, when everyone else who lives in my house does the same thing, but minus the derision, snide comments and piercing looks of death?
Yup, we’re going high brow today on Daddy Files and discussing farts.
I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend lately regarding the subject. Despite the fact that everyone in the house (including the animals) routinely passes gas, my wife treats mine differently than everyone else’s. If Will farts, it’s cute. Mainly because everything he does is cute. He’ll hold his stomach, bend slightly at the waist and then let one loose. And he always has that look on his face where he’s half amused and half scared that he did something wrong. So MJ and I both laugh, and rightfully so. My wife farts (even though she tries to deny it or pretend it didn’t just happen) and I’m just supposed to look the other way. She gets upset when I call her on it, as if her ass is too precious for such a foul act to occur. Hell, even when the dog and cat farts MJ thinks it’s funny and cute.
But if I fart, it is the end of civilization as we know it.
Look, I will admit I don’t hold back. Mainly because it hurts my stomach to hold it in, so I freely trumpet my gastrointestinal rebellion throughout the house with reckless abandon. And yes, sometimes it smells like a dead skunk that was just removed from a decaying corpse a little, but that’s par for the course. I’d venture to say 99% of all farts smell. It is a bodily function that originates from your anal cavity. The very act of farting is gross and malodorous, so why all the shock and outrage?
But that’s the thing: my wife doesn’t think her farts stink. Seriously. If she does fart in front of me she goes to any length necessary to hide it, and she will never admit it. And if I say it smells, she gets legitimately upset and tells me I’m wrong. She literally thinks her ass expulsions don’t stink. Even if I do catch her, she wants me to treat it like a novelty or some freak occurrence, and give her a pass.
Yet when I fart, she looks at me like I am the grossest motherfucker on the planet. MJ is someone who cannot mask her emotions, so in that instant after the fart leaves my body, she displays raw emotion that cannot be hidden. Her eyebrows crinkle together, her eyes narrow into snake-like slits, her lips purse and one corner of her mouth draws up into a nasty snarl. In short, she treats me like I’ve just taken a dump on the Mona Lisa. Like I’m the biggest Neanderthal she’s ever seen. Like my very existence at that moment in time is so grotesque to her, she can’t possibly fathom that I exist, nevermind the fact that she is actually married to such a cretin.
Earlier in our relationship, I used to be sensitive to her feelings. So I’d either hold it in (painful) or I’d literally leave the room to pass gas. But as we stopped giving a shit about impressing each other our relationship matured, we became comfortable with each other and began letting our guard down. No need to put on airs in a marriage, and so the gas was passed. At least by me. But I was never deliberate or mean-spirited about it.
If she gives me that look of disdain, I seek revenge the next time around. If we’re under the covers, instead of aiming it away from her I go right at her. And if she still gives me shit, I either give her the Dutch Oven or I flap the covers up and down so the fart can permeate the room. And if I’m really feeling spiteful, I’ll wait for her to fall asleep and then rip a particularly nasty one that wakes her up.
Some say you shouldn’t resort to using chemical warfare while involved in marital battles, but at this point I have a win at all costs mentality. I’m standing up for the rights of flatulent husbands everywhere. And history will eventually view me as a hero.
CHECK OUT FATHERHOOD FRIDAY OVER AT DAD-BLOGS. IT’S A GAS.