Wednesday, June 4, 2008

The Feminine Art of “Holding in a Fart”

All women know if you hold in a fart long enough, it goes into an appointed fart-holding area; a special female-fold in our colons. It waits there until the coast is clear, when you’re perfectly private and you’re perfectly alone. Then…on your command only….blastoff.

 

NEVER in all my years in school did I ever even THINK of squeaking a noisy fart out—not at recess, not in the locker room, not even in the high school bathroom with the burn-outs. The potentially disastrous impact on my vulnerable social life wouldn’t allow it. No girl I knew ever did. We have trained ourselves to manipulate the air …just so… to be absolutely certain that in case of an emergency, we could slip it out silently. It’s not something we’re taught—it is instinct. And… this goes DOUBLE for dating and/or wooing a boyfriend---no gas—EVER!!

I’m sure there are men out there that hold it in and pass it out silently too. But the consequences of noisy-release aren’t as severe. You might hear some snickers, and maybe see some head shaking, but boys love a fart. Men purposely eat food that makes them fart (my husband eats cold baked beans out of a can for a snack.) If you’ve ever been lurking outside a Deer Hunting Camp, you’d think there was a brass band inside.

Years ago, in my own home, if I passed a little gas within earshot of my young sons, I denied it and told them that girls don’t fart. They believed me and I heard them repeat it to one of their little friends:

Yes they do,” their friend said, “I heard my grandma fart.”
“Grandmas aren’t girls—they’re women. My mom never farts.” Jon said.


In recent years, after kids, after 40, I find that my willingness to fart absolutely silently at home is dwindling. It’s just a little ridiculous to make myself uncomfortable--what for? I’m pretty confident my husband is not going to divorce me on account of a noisy fart:


“Your honor, I want a divorce. Yes, that’s right. My wife misrepresented herself as a wind-less woman.”

Then again…

As a result of my waning desire to suppress gas, my once toned, fart-stabilizing-muscles are shrinking. Recently, I was at a spa with my aunt and cousin, having the most amazing treatments. I was in a serene room….just me and my masseuse…and I had to fart. Distractingly so. Lying on my stomach, being pushed and pulled, it was all I could do to “hike it up” and “throw it” in full-reverse fart-mode to immobilize the offending pocket of air.

“You’re awfully tense, Heidi. Let it go.”

You REALLY don’t want me to do that.

Furthermore, my skills of Pre-Fart Awareness aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be. They’ve become weary as well. I took a Pilates class a while ago and as I was attempting a Roll-Up maneuver…..PBBBBSST! No warning. No downward whiny bubble. It was a very quiet room—I would have held it in if I knew it was coming! No one laughed or said anything, but I’m sure people quickly got on their cell phones after class:

“I actually HEARD a woman fart. No, I haven’t been drinking.”

Since then I’ve become fearful of the accidental public fart due to my slacking Pre-Fart Awareness and flabby fart-stabilizing musculature. Maybe there’s a minor surgery for it?

Or…maybe I’ll just stay home.

4 comments:

Jenie Altruda said...

Laughing on the floor. You need to publish these. These are PRICELESS. You are gonna be RICH! You are gonna be famous for your flatulence!

Bev Spicknall said...

You need to get paid for this! By the way, welcome to the 40s and the ability to "let it loose!" Not that I've ever farted in public or in front of my husband or around my children or while doing situps during high school gym class. . .

Dawn @Lighten Up! said...

HahaHAAAAA!! Yes, yes, the after-40 fart. Love this, Heidi. One of my faves of yours!!

Nurse Mommy said...

Your first mistake was to go to pilates or yoga or any of those classes with young people. Sign up for the old folks class and make sure to be at the front of the class. Talk about a marching band!
So funny Heidi!!! You are the Queen of Bean! LOVE this one.