The Tell-Tale Fart

While I hope that none of us have had to kill a strange-eyed elderly man, I do have to pay homage to the great Edgar Allan Poe as I start this. Also, with hope, while none of us will be driven to sanity with “tick tick tick” this story is something that should bring those newly coupled folks one thing: comfort. Even if we’re focusing on flatulence.

We’ve all been there. In the new relationship either at your paramour’s place or on a quick weekend getaway and there is one bathroom. Those old enough might remember “Miranda Hobbes”, Cynthia Nixon’s amazing character on “Sex and the City”, sneaking to the hotel lobby to go “number two” or serve up some savory flatulence when on a getaway with a new beau. I myself will admit to holding as much as I could, claiming to need some air, or “have to run home to check on the cats” so I could let out some stools or let my gassiness out into the wind versus a partner’s home.

And, it does not matter: he, she, they, etc. We all do it, because we are in the honeymoon phase of the relationship and we are still trying to act as if we are royalty in a fairy tail and poop sunshine and rainbows and never have any normal, human hygeine habits that are, indeed, gross (if not relieving).

I remember a particular night at my old place with my most recent ex-boyfriend, and until that moment we had been playing the walk-outside-run-to-restaurant-bathroom-need-to-feed cats game with each other until we did not. There, sitting on my couch watching “Sinners,” he hopped up and ran to my half bath and I heard the most cacophonous sound: a big fart.

He walked out as if nothing happened and I tried to maintain my cool but instead erupted in giggles. Bashfully, he told me to stop, that he tried so hard to hold it, but he had to. My response was one he wasn’t expecting: “You love me.” He laughed and said, “Of course I do.” He trusted me enough to fart. In solidarity, I tried to squeeze out an itty bitty one but it did not work but I assure you, I eventually matched his showing later.

We’re both above 40 so the days of “hot boxing” someone under the covers when flatulent are long over and they’ve transmuted into the days of politely excusing ourselves into another room — unless there is no other room (e.g. a one-bed room at the Marriott in Chicago). He, to this day, remains amused that I found all of this endearing, and I, to this day, know had we stayed together the charm would have worn off like it did with everyone else. But it’s one of those very awkward signs of trust in an early relationship; similar to eventually sharing the bathroom when one is on the toilet.

In short, we should be paying more attention to our partner’s bladder and bowel habit proximity as we measure the long-term prospect of the relationship.

While no madness, no murder, no ticking under wooden planks, the tell-tale fart is one to pay attention to. Take comfort, and cover your nose.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.