I may need some help with my marriage.
This is not something even the IST could tackle.
I thought for sure my online mom friends could relate and provide some suggestions on how to cope with the crisis I am dealing with.
Okay, here it is: my husband has gas.
Now, I know that most husbands have gas. But we have a larger, more pressing problem. It seems as if no matter what room he is in at the moment, when the time comes, he ALWAYS happens to be near me when the mustard gas canister explodes.
And we’re not talking about little farts. We’re talking about rip roaring, make-me-lose-my-lunch, Febreeze-won’t-touch-it with-a ten-foot-poll type farts.
I’m sure the few men who run across this blog are cheering him on and would be doing the male chest bump if they were here in person. Go ahead boys, you wouldn’t be chest bumping, you’d be dry heaving if you smell these.
I cannot decide if this is intentional, accidental or a little of both.
You know, like giving your spouse a love pat, only he likes to give me a love fart?
I’m trying not to take it personal. If he is trying to prove his love for me, surely he knows, after 18 years together, that his gas can easily, quickly, turn me greener the pea soup.
And our house is 3,000 square feet! Why, why, why does he feel the need to come and locate my little 3 square feet I might be occupying at the moment, and let them rip? There are 2997 other square feet in our house that he could go to!
But noooooo, just like magic, he finds me and POOT, BAM there it goes! Kinda like the late Billy Mays, KABOOM!, or Emeril, BAM!
Does anyone else deal with this? Surely, I am not alone. Should I just add Beano to all the food in our house?
Can I join a support group for Wives of Severe Farters? Anyone wanna join me?
And honey, I promise, flowers are much more effective than farts if this is a way to prove your love for me. Please. At least aim towards the boys when it gets bad. This seems to be a male issue, they are already apprentice farters as it is, and can learn from your technique.
(Printed with permission from my husband, who farted while reading this, when he started to laugh. For real.)
