Nice girls don't fart

Last night, I got hassled.

Chris made fun of me for a good hour because maybe I might have let out a wee little bit of a fart. (Sorry -- we had fajitas for dinner and sometimes it happens.)

Knowing my sensitivity regarding smelling bad, the bastard made this big deal about it (though he later said it was nothing -- he just thought it was funny watching me freak out. Prick). Then he went on about how funny it is that girls fart.

(Of course, we would be much more open about it if guys didn't make such a big deal about it. Yeesh.)

This is from a guy I've lived with for 10 years. Ten!

This is from the man who has spent the last decade letting out the most unholy stenches of the nether regions of his arse. Great explosions. Ones that tremble the floor. Stinks that follow him like a little trail for up to 15 minutes. Clouds of vileness that actually form little brown clouds that waft in the breeze.

And god help you if you're silly enought to leave your mouth open.

Of course, he laughs hysterically (you have a love a 34-year-old guy who still thinks farts are hilarious). His favourites are the giant assaults that tear through the night, sending me scurrying to the farthest side of the bed before I have a conherent thought. Then he giggles. Awake, asleep -- doesn't matter. He'll giggle after he farts.

It could be 3:57 am -- then all of a sudden *braaaaaaap*... followed by this tiny little "tee hee."

Anyway, last night, after tormenting me on my insane neurosis with smell, I was getting ready for bed after my walk. I walked by the bedroom. The door was open by the teeniest of cracks... yet the smell.

Oh dear, god, the smell.

I had to open the bedroom door and air out the room for a good half hour before I could enter the room without my eyes tearing.

Today, I received gracious permission that, in such a vile little event, I was permitted to light a bit of incense on the way to bed.

How nice.