Wind in my sails

I’ve become a distressingly windy organism. Perhaps this is a bit personal to be blogging about but if I can’t share embarrassingly personal information here, what’s the point of having one? I don’t know if it’s hormones, breastfeeding or some mysterious change in what I’m eating, but most of it is converting to methane inside me. I could be a serious contender for alternative propulsion competitions – a well-placed match at opportune moments would probably propel me several feet at a time. I am turning into a walking bio-hazard. As it is, my olfactory cells are routinely assaulted by noxious fumes wafting (or blasting) through the environment. The only person who has to endure my malodorous presence is my dear offspring, who often gets a puzzled look on his face after I’ve released a barrage of particularly pungent molecules into the air, as if to say – does this smell happen randomly, or is it something I did?

It doesn’t seem to be related to anything I do, unless I mistakenly eat cabbage, broccoli or eggs, after which the –ahem- aroma - reaches lethal concentrations. Thank God I’m not on the dating scene or it would be really embarrassing. I’d have to excuse myself every half hour to relieve the pressure. I’d have to wear a “danger: explosives” sign and hand out face masks. Sigh. Whatever happened to my occasional, girlish sweet-smelling foofs? They have morphed into the stuff of nightmares. They lurk in my intestines waiting for just the right inappropriate moment to announce their presence with either silent-but-deadly guerilla attacks, or all-out bazooka blasts. I don’t go out much anymore.

My SIL Karen says I need to take enzymes. I say, what happened to the enzymes I used to have?? Are they on vacation? Have they left the building? Sigh. Yet another reason I will more than likely remain single for ever.

Reminds me of a night I went out to a play with L. We ran into a fellow I’d met at a simplicity circle (that’s another rant) and so we invited him to sit with us. The theatre was a small community affair and they were performing “Othello”. About twenty minutes into the play I heard a suspicious rumble vibrating through the metal seats on the bleacher-style chairs. R-R-R-R-R!

“Was that what I thought it was?” …and was it L that did it?? …No, couldn’t be.”
A couple of minutes later, another R-R-R-R-R! and the seat vibrated again. I look over at L, as do a couple of people from the row in front of us. Everyone sniffs the air suspiciously and tries to inch away from the source of the noise. This continued through the whole first half. R-R-R-R-R. sniff. Inch. Repeat. By intermission, there was a large, conspicuous empty zone around us.

It turned out it was our impromptu companion that was distracting our attention from the play, much to the mortification of L, who had to endure suspicious and disgusted looks from our neighbouring spectators. Needless to say, we made some excuse about leaving early and got seats closer to the door, and incidentally, farther away from our companion. He ended up marrying someone L. knows. Small world.