Jamie Reidy knows that women aren’t immune to laying a stinker—even in downward facing dog.
It’s the end of yoga class. Exhausted, I lie on my back during Savasna, thankful that in the previous hour I didn’t pop a hamstring or a boner, either of which would have been mortifying in front of all these women.
Focused on my deep, nasal breathing, I am helpless when the stink reaches me. Apparently, one of my classmates overachieved in reaching her state of relaxation.
The fart quickly envelops me. I nearly dry heave; not because of the odor’s offensiveness—it wouldn’t even register on the top (bottom?) 100 I’ve suffered through—but because of its surprise.
Women pass gas. I know this thanks to basic science courses. Plus, I saw Bridesmaids. But, still, female flatulence always catches me off guard.
And judging from the nasty looks I receive a few minutes later, the women didn’t expect it, either.
People normally aren’t frowning after yoga, the point of which is too relieve stress, lighten the spirit, and tighten the buttocks. But all of the women who practiced near me in the back row are frowning at me, or, in the case of Miss Yoga-Classmate-Apparently-Sponsored-by-Lululemon, glaring at me.
It takes a second to realize what’s going on. Finally, I get it. These ladies assume that I—the only guy in today’s class—dropped the stink bomb.
Why is it that a man is always blamed for a fart? Think about it. Any time a WMD-worthy fecal cloud rises in a bar, the girls immediately cover their mouths with one hand and accusingly point to a nearby dude with the other.
That’s a blatant case of gender profiling.
Are you telling me Cameron Diaz has never crop-dusted her fellow passengers en route to the airplane bathroom? Brooke Burke hasn’t let a butt burp slip during a massage?
Puh-lease.
Funny thing about the girls’ fingering me as the farter: I always hit the gym bathroom prior to yoga for a pre-emptive strike, if you will, just to avoid poisoning my peers. I’m on their side!
Ladies, I am guilty of many things: sneaking glances at your asses in those tights, as well as wondering what your asses look like without those tights, to name just a couple.
But I am innocent when it comes to floating an air biscuit (R.I.P. John Hughes) in yoga class.
Namaste.
—Photo lululemon athletica/Flickr
Oh, gender profiling, is it?
Maybe if it wasn’t such a stereotype that it’s hilarrrrious and much more acceptable for men to fart in public/in front of their friends than it is for women, women wouldn’t be so embarrassed or quick to judge in such situations. It’s far more humiliating and damning for a woman to fart in public than a man.
No, it’s just far funnier when women fart because there is more dignity to lose. First rule of comedy – give the character dignity, and then have it taken away from them.
It’s not really the “FIRST rule of comedy” though is it – they’d have us believe they’re all the first rule. Every rule of comedy is supposedly the first one. We never hear of the ninth rule, or the twenty-sixth rule
Yoga is a tool for the evil genius, especially with gas eruptions. Well done on surviving.
http://evilgeniusmum.wordpress.com/2012/09/06/evil-genius-tool-1-yoga/
Why do you think I bring my dog with me so many places. Plausible deniability.
It’s only in instances where there isn’t a dumb animal that can’t defend itself in the vicinity that men get blamed. We’re the next best thing. 😉
I think that is very common in yoga class. Gas get out of control and scape. Who gets the blame ? Usually guys.
I have never farted in public. However I have been made nauseous travelling in elevators with over-perfumed women. Frequently.
a) I did, in fact, know about the burping… but I thought that was just after chugging draft beer in college.
b) I completely believe in the existence of secret chambers. Women probably learned about them at that secret school they all attend.
Maybe the women in that class actually have a secret chamber they use at night to release the day’s “pressures” free of witnesses…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxxsP7VWVN8
Ladies, I am guilty of many things: staring at your asses in those tights, comparing your asses in those tights, and wondering what your asses look like without those tights, to name a few.
lololol.
An enjoyable piece
Did you know that we burp too?
Hehe, well said 🙂
Shawn, that really hurts my feelings, dude.
Both sexes need to keep up on the green leafy veggies.
This entire column has the smell of truth to it. That said… I still think it was you.
I think it was the girl in the purple socks.