The Protein Fart

This morning started out like most every other--my legs and Jorge's all intertwined like Twizzlers and my torso perfectly cradled against his. My left hand tenderly nestled in the divine valley of hair between his nippies and my right hand struggling against numbness from the weight of his bigger-than-average cranium...

This, quite simply, is heaven on earth!

Then, it happened. Just as I was about to take off for another visit to the Land of Nod, I was assaulted by none other than the atrocious protein fart. I swear it sounded like a derailing freight train.

The protein fart is caused by exaggerated consumption of chicken, eggs, turkey, pork, tuna, beef, and the occasional pistachio, and it's louder, smellier, and considerably more toxic than the regular I-just-woke-up-and-I-have-to-fart-because-I feel-like-it-and-we've-been-married-forever-so-it’s-ok-if-I do-it-in-front-of-you fart. (Gee thanks; your wife is now lumped in with all the other pigs you fart in front of, like your softball team buddies and all the rest of the poor unsuspecting pedestrians who you walk by and fart on knowing you’ll never get blamed because there’s a crowd!) [(Sidebar--My husband’s softball team is called Urine Trouble--I AM NOT KIDDING!)].


Anyway, I immediately try to escape, but I am trapped. This particular strain of methane is so potent it permeates EVERYTHING! There is no respite. It is not safe under the covers, in the closet, or even in the bathroom with the door closed. I run out of the room only to return to the lingering stench and immediately put the fan on high and start doing spastic windmills with my arms--ALL TO NO AVAIL!



F---I---N---A---L---L---Y it dissipates. Amen! I wonder for a moment if it’s perhaps a good thing that this poison is expelled rather than left to foment inside my spouse. It can’t possibly be healthy to have SWAMP THING as a resident of one’s colon. Why am I sharing all this? Simply because if any of you handsome gentlemen out there ever decide to start a protein-based diet, you will also be passing nasty gas. Do not allow your wives and children, girlfriends and pets to fall victim. Take control of your peristaltic process, and BE A NICE GUY--TAKE IT OUTSIDE!

Just a thought….



P.S. My husband’s new nickname is Flatch; you wouldn't want it as your moniker--would you?