Thursday, October 14, 2010

Sweet Toots

Smell can be a trigger of both memory and thoughts. The odor that stirred my brain to action was utterly dreadful, and about the last aroma anyone, with the exception of a fly or perhaps a worshiper of Crepitus, would ever care to smell. The offending odor hit me while standing beside the entrance to the ladies room, in of all places, an upscale strip club in Miami. I knew not which stripper had dropped the bomb, as a steady stream of hotties had made their way in and out of the bathroom just prior to the incident. My first thought, how could such an ugly odor come from such an attractive gal? My second thought (and this was the trigger that sent my mind to wander), I’ve never heard a woman fart before, at least not that I can recall. I suppose there’s a chance that I had and subsequently subdued the memory, like the mind of a Vietnam vet repressing visions of war too damaging to directly address. But I don’t believe so.

Now at first blush, this may seem inconsequential and more than a trifle obtuse. And left uncultivated, it most certainly would be. But like many a passing notion, my mind expanded upon it, fermenting the premise and asking the question; maybe there’s a reason why I’ve never heard a girl fart before? By natural course of thought, I considered my relationship history. I’ve had my share of long-term relationships, but never married. Invariable, when things got too serious, and conversations of marriage reached critical mass, I’d always find a way out, even if it meant chewing through a limb to be free of the trap.

But now, as I stood there staring at the estrogen gems swaying on stage and smelling freshly shed methane, I started to think that maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time to grow up, to man up and once and for all allow a relationship to ripen fully, before running off. Maybe it was time to make a solid commitment, take it to the next level, and finally form the kind of bond with a woman where she’d feel comfortable enough to fart in front of me.

My thoughts then turned to Katie, my current girlfriend. She was top shelf, no doubt about it. She had it all; character, class, smarts, personality, and was as attractive as any girl in the strip club to boot. We were pretty close. Soul mates? Maybe not just yet, but perhaps someday, the potential was certainly there. We’d talked about marriage, kids, family, the whole plot, which is to say that she talked while I pretended to listen.

Watching some of the guys from the bachelor party getting lap dances across the way, I began to feel more than a little guilty for not taking those conversations with Katie more seriously. And in that moment I was struck by a change of heart that could only be described as seismic; it suddenly became profoundly important that I get Katie an engagement ring, and did so ASAP. I couldn’t be more surprised, as much by the debut as the depth of revelation. The notion was underscored further by the backdrop; this was not exactly the place one would expect to have such an epiphany.

The very next night I had Katie over for a quiet dinner. I really felt the urge to spend time with her, and more importantly, talk. I even cooked; chicken, rice and beans, fresh salad, my go to recipe. After dinner we sat on the couch with a glass of Merlot to watch TV. Almost right away Katie sensed something coming, the fact that I let her hold the TV remote must have given it away. She hit the mute button and turned to ask me what was up. Following her prompt, I preceded to tell her my thoughts from the night prior, skipping no detail. I even told her the part about the fart, and how I felt that the reason I’d never before heard a woman let one go was because I’d never allowed myself to get close enough. I told her how that really bothered me, and how I felt like I was missing out. I told her that it was time for me to make a change.

As she listened I could see she was a little shocked at first, especially with the mention of farting. But as I continued to speak, and the analogy began to coalesce, and she realized the depth of my conviction, I could see her slowly soften and smile with joy and understanding. She said very little after that, but I could tell by her actions that my little speech had hit home. She snuggled in tight on the couch, and without any petition from me, she even clicked from Bravo Channel’s Real Housewives over to the football game. I made no mention of buying her a ring during our heart to heart, but the proposal had clearly been implied.

The game went on with little fanfare, our heartbeats and breaths synced as we cuddled on the couch imbibing wine and each other’s energy. By the third quarter I started to feel the effects of the wine, and since Katie was a glass ahead of me, I could only assume that she was feeling it too. It was at that point when Katie shifted, leaned, and ripped one. I don’t think I could’ve been any more surprised, or impressed. Ripped one was probably not the best way to describe the fart. It was more of a delicate purr, almost dainty in its delivery, a sweet toot. Moreover, it hardly even smelled.

We laughed and laughed, accidentally spilled a glass of wine and laughed some more. What a night, Katie was definitely a cool chick; I had to give her that. I couldn’t believe she actually had the nerve to do it. I had gotten exactly what I asked for - I’d finally heard a woman fart.

The event did not have the effect that I thought it would, however. In my defense, at least I didn’t lie about one thing - it was indeed time for a change. The next day I broke up with Katie.  Did it via Facebook, hearing her fart was so traumatic I couldn't even face her.  There’d be no recovering from this, the damage as permanent as paralysis.

Today as I write this I have plans to go to the strip club again this weekend with a buddy, TJ, who recently got divorced. I find myself wondering if maybe his wife made the mistake of farting in front of him one time too many. Maybe I’ll ask him when we get there. Then again, maybe I won’t. It’s probably better not to think too deeply in such a place. I did that once and look where it got me. More importantly, I’m definitely going to steer clear of the ladies room door.


*photo courtesy of

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

When the mood should strike, please check out  They have published a small piece from this blog titled Running out of Time.  Look in on all of the other wonderful works by authors from around the land, most of whom are far more talented than this chimp.