Who Farted?

A strange topic for today’s discussion, but one that has been on my mind for several days now.

I’m a gassy person.

There, I’ve said it.

It’s out in the open.

No turning back now.

Being a gassy person has usually not been much of a problem for me these past few years. Having lived no my own for a while now, I have been free to be as flamboyantly flatulent as deemed necessary. Because who is going to hear me, other than Hugh, whose opinion in this matter I hardly care about.

Specifically I am a morning gas passer and will happily lie in bed for a few moments before getting up, tooting away to my hearts content. Again, not been a problem for the spinster that I have been for so long.

Things, however, have changed of late.

I am sort of, kind of, maybe, perhaps not single anymore. Not to get too excited about it because I really don’t know WHAT we are, but he is a lovely little Newfie Gooner (is from Newfoundland + supports Arsenal football club = Newfie Gooner) who I met a few months ago. We started off as complete and utter friends, and not even in the “I am going to say I just want to be friends even though I am open to the possibility that maybe we might like each other in ‘that way, but at least this way I won’t feel like a loser if you don’t like me” kind of friends. But ‘just friends’ we are no more, and in fact, I can’t remember having met such a wonderful person, guy or girl, in a very long time. Yay me.

But whatever… if that was what this posting was going to be about, it would have been titled “Someone Who Bea Likes Actually Likes Her Back… Hell Apparently Frozen Over”. And besides, who cares about that when there are clearly more important issues to discuss… like my farting.

Backtracking to last weekend, after a lovely visit to the former roomie’s new house out in the ‘burbs, my Newfie Gooner opted to spend the night at mine, despite my cat and his predilection for using NG as a drop zone target from atop the bookshelf beside my bed.

But did I sleep? No… Why? Because my body decided it hated me. Never in my life had I been more gassy than I was that night. It was painful even… Unable to toot at will, the cramps started… the horrible cramps, with air threatening to leak out loudly with every movement I made, with enough wind stored up in there to power a small country for decades. Which meant that trying to be sneaky and let it out silently was never going to happen... and one can only get up and go into the bathroom, turn the water on full blast and flush the toilet like 8 times in a row to muffle the noise so many times in the course of a few hours.

It was horrible.

HORRIBLE.

So I guess the question is… what the hell is a girl supposed to do???