My husband is obsessed with the fact that I do not fart around him. Yes it has happened. Nobody’s perfect.  But really, I think farting is rude and disgusting, so I just keep it to the bathroom. That’s what you’re supposed to do in there. It’s not an embarrassing part of life, it just has it’s place–the bathroom.  My husband does not share my sentiments..and we’ll leave it at that.

So he’s trying to figure out how much gas I have and where it goes.  I don’t think he understands how I can keep from exploding or ripping them in public since I don’t fart when he’s at home.  The conclusion he came to was that I just must not have gas.

“If you wanted to fart right now, could you? I mean I’ll bet you couldn’t.  I’ll bet you can only fart like 5 times a day. How many times do you fart? Is it more than 5?”

“Yeah probably, but I don’t really count those kinds of things.”

“You couldn’t fart 5 times a day.”

“Umm. I ate a bean burrito for lunch today.  Those give you gas. I’m not superwoman.”

(laughs because bean burritos give you gas)”No, if you were superwoman you could use those farts to get to the moon. Not being superwoman just keeps you grounded.”

 

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