Do you find the word fart offensive? Vulgar? Perhaps, uncouth?
Maybe you would prefer toot? The vapours? FLATULENCE?
Sometimes the ones we blow with our mouths (gosh, does that ever sound dirty…) are affectionately called blowing raspberries. Or mouth tooties, as my little one refers to them. To differentiate from those down below. I tooted from my actual bum that time, Mom.
We all pass wind. It is a normal human bodily function. However, frequency and amount varies person to person. As does the noise and scent often associated with the expelling of flatus through the anus. *giggle*
Or do you find the word fart funny?
I think a person’s reaction to either the passing of their gas or the released vapours of another’s can be very telling. Because let’s be honest, farts are funny. At least I think so. And I can think of a handful (or several) of other people who most definitely agree. Like The Brothers. They certainly did when we were younger. Even though I have no contact with The Brothers, I can bet they still find farts funny.
When my hubby and I were first dating bodily functions were off limits. Meaning: no passing of gas (above or below the belt) and he wouldn’t blow his nose in my presence (his choice). I went along with it out of respect to him, but I would have been comfortable then the way we are now.
I grew up alongside The Brothers (and a trio of older step-siblings) so privacy was an unavailable commodity most times. Plus. We weren’t that kind of family. Sure, we all had manners. We knew the time and place for certain behaviours. But you could also catch us watching the Three Stooges, while eating mush at the kitchen table, and rolling on the floor cackling because someone just ripped one during brunch. I can hear my mom’s common, OOOOH John! To which my father, bright red and struggling to breathe through the laughter, responded, But Shabee, it wasn’t me!
I guess all that camping growing up made us a really close family. Ha! Like when my mom was pregnant and we all went away in the summer. She was due at the beginning of September. So regardless of whether it was July or August (I can’t remember) when we went away that summer, which was really warm, it would have been very uncomfortable for her. Props to my mom for all that she did. Three little kids, one big one (my dad), a dog, and PUH-regnant. All in a wee 18-foot trailer.
Over the years, the trailers got bigger. And we all drifted apart. Huh. Maybe we should have kept that little one…but that’s a post for another time. Anyways…
When hubby and I were first dating Dave Chappelle was enjoying the successful launch of his sketch comedy series, Chappelle’s Show. We watched it regularly and enjoyed more than a hearty laugh. It was clever. He was an excellent writer. And whether you enjoy his comedy or not, he was able to shed a humourous light on sensitive subject matter. Anyways. I think we had been together about six months or so when a particular clip played involving Charlie Murphy. And the Time Haters. (My apologies for the quality of the clip, it was all I could find.)
We actually missed the entire clip because during the first 10 seconds, specifically at that look on Murphy’s slave character’s face when his pimp character is told one of the slaves might be his great-granddaddy, we lost it. When that moment happened hubby laughed so hard he farted. Which embarrassed him. Caused him to turn bright red. Me to laugh hysterically. Him too. And inevitably caused him to fart more. Which caused us to crack up and completely lose it like a couple of kids.
From then on things were quite different between us. That fart was pivotal moment in our relationship. All these years later we still talk about it.
Because. Farts are funny.
Everyone has had a moment of unexpected release. An uncontrolled slippage of gas. At the most awkward or inconvenient time. The unannounced air biscuit. Like when I was pregnant (sure, blame the unborn baby). And we were strolling through Home Depot. I had a wee slip. Silent. So I didn’t acknowledge it. Lucky for me (ahem), it was just me and the hubby in the aisle. Unlucky for him (ahem), he was behind me. And let me know. Silence can be deadly.
So. Whether you care to admit it or not. We have all let one slide. Ripped one. Cut the cheese. Without forewarning for us and others. No notice. Just the wee psst of air. And, perhaps, tried to hide it. No shame in any of it. Many comedic dialogues are born out of such circumstances.
There are also the unknown farts. Like when we are asleep. How many times have you been in the presence of someone tucked peacefully away in slumber just letting them go? One after another. As if they know you think they are asleep and so take advantage. As I type this on a Sunday afternoon, the day after my wee one’s birthday party, said wee one and hubby are sleeping soundly in our back/sunroom. I, in the front sitting room, am watching the snow fall, typing and being entertained by the rhythms cast out of their rears. Perhaps, revisiting the pizza we ordered last night for dinner at lunch today was a poor choice…
The release of gas at an inopportune time can be dreadfully embarrassing. And humbling. Perhaps, farts are something in our biology designed to prevent us from getting too full of ourselves. A little heinie hiccup of humility. You know. Just in case. *wink*
Because. Farts ARE funny.
Often when someone we know or love is not feeling their best we can tell. Regardless of whether they succeed in hiding it, if attempting to. There are certain tells (like when my blood sugars are low, things I do not see or recognize as a sign but hubby does). The wee one gets glassy eyed and spaced out whenever there is something more than a cold or a 24-hour bug lingering. He kept insisting he was fine, but I disagreed. On his birthday we trotted the lad off to the doctor’s where he was greeted with birthday wishes and a diagnosis of a double ear infection. Happy Birthday!
He also received an adult dose of antibiotics in an attempt to kick the infection’s ass and make sure he would be well enough to enjoy his first-ever birthday party a few days later. (Which it did!)
There were a few times over the course of the last couple of weeks where I was more than typically concerned. He was once again home with the sniffles and a cough. Totally depleted of energy. My non-napping kiddo (he stopped afternoon naps at 13 months) was now sleeping 2-4 hours every afternoon. Anyways. The doctor told us we did everything right. He hadn’t complained about his ears so there was no way to know. And had we brought him in any earlier there would have been nothing to diagnose while running the risk of him picking up something worse. Phew. We did it right this time!
The day after he was given the prescription hubby and I performed a very scientific test to check the wee guy’s recovery. We set it all up. Sick child propped up, barely awake. Check. Parents goofily giggle in anticipation of the possibility of success. Check. Husband’s finger extended and backside poised (sounds worse than it was!). Check. Wife ready to pull finger/ignite ass cannon. Check.
Hey kiddo, watch Mommy pull my finger!
Here we go!!
And there is an eruption of laughter. Not just grown-up giggles. But the gorgeous, beautiful, heart-warming sounds of kiddo laughter!
He was giggling with delight (between the fits of coughing) and congratulating his father on such a successful fart firing. Phew! What a relief. He is feeling better. We got exactly the reaction we were looking for. Had he not laughed we would have gone straight back to the doctor.
Because. Farts ARE funny.