First of all, I promise this is the first and will be the last time I blog about gas. Really. Well, probably.
But I must confess, for reasons I do not understand, I think it is the funniest subject ever. Really. I can hardly think about it without cracking up. In fact, I absolutely cannot. So you can imagine how hilarious it is for me to live with a man who wakes himself up in the middle of the night with loud gas. ("Loud gas"—the very words make me laugh so hard I can barely type. I think there is something wrong with me.) He wakes up with a start "What's that?!" as if perhaps our home is being invaded.
Once on an early date, we were walking into a movie theatre. The trailers had begun, and the theatre was dark. About a quarter way down the center aisle, Husband accidentally lets rip one that sounded like thunder. Did he think no one would notice because it was DARK? Could I not, he wondered, pretend not to notice? Absolutely not. I collapsed to the ground in laughter and had to practically crawl out of the theatre until I could get control of myself. Who looked more stupid there? But seriously, I could not help myself.
This is by way of explaining why I am still laughing over the story he brought home the other night: He is sitting in his cubicle at work. He feels pressure. He lets it go carefully in the name of noise control. He thinks he's in the clear until a coworker walks into his cubicle RIGHT INTO THE CLOUD OF GAS. What would you have done? Husband just sat there smiling. The coworker draws up short and announces "Uh—I'll be back in about five minutes." As in when the air has cleared. We know what I would have done.
Of course I've been telling this story to everyone. One of my girl friends handles the situation like this: She farts in her office, someone shows up at the door, she stands up and says "I've got to check the fax machine. Walk with me."
Me? This is never an issue, as I am known as an entirely gasless person. Really.