In praise of farting…

My father would have died rather than fart in front of anyone (my mother would have gone one step further and murdered all the witnesses – no I’m just kidding). The first time I met anyone who just let it rip, I was impressed – but a bit taken aback. Here’s this hulking African-American guy pretty much levitating himself off my bed with the force of his rectal explosions…and he doesn’t even say ‘pardon me, ma’am!’. It was a revelation.

My African-American was soon followed by two other boyfriends wildly disparate in intellectual capacity and follicular gifts – but both able to blast off methane missiles like North Korea having a Show and Tell Day.

So now I’m single and all by myself and you know what, I’ve finally learned the joy of farting. If you’d challenged me to let off a trombone five years ago, I just couldn’t have made myself do it – even my arse would’ve crossed its metaphorical arms and zipped itself firmly shut. Don’t get me wrong, I could release a room-clearer as well as anyone – I just couldn’t do the loud and proud.

But I’ve got older and less genteel since then. So now I add the ability to fart whenever I feel like it to all the other advantages of being alone – of which, I’ve gotta tell you, there are quite a lot.

More of that some other time. How about you? Are you alone? Do you like it? What do you reckon is the best thing about being All By Yourself?

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