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Why I Fart in Front of My Husband (and So Should You)

There are some things I will hold onto forever (disdain over Ryan Reynolds marrying Blake Lively instead of me is the first that comes to mind because we would have been really, really good together).  But one thing I don’t hold on to? A fart. And let me tell you why.

A healthy relationship is built upon not being shy about opening up the door and letting in a little backyard breeze; it is being able to relax your sphincter as well your heart and your mind.

Here is my reasoning:

We agreed for better or for worse. (OK I’m paraphrasing here since our vows consisted of Red Hot Chili Pepper lyrics…but it is a general idea). For better means I’ve showered and put on deodorant and makeup; for worse means I am in three-day-old pajamas and his old t-shirt, smelling the chunk of mystery-goo that is stuck in my hair. Now I’m sure to those of you who aren’t married, I may have just provided you with a solid reason not to engage in this sort of relationship. But trust me when I say that there is something very special about letting someone see you at your “worst”. Especially if that someone then kisses you on the mouth and brings you some wine.

Because science. Farting is just your butt sneezing. Would you be embarrassed to sneeze in front of your partner? I think not. Einstein, Curie, Sheldon Cooper, Newton, Darwin, Hawking—they’ve all written extensively about this subject. In fact, Aristotle said, “The aim of [f]art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.” Mind. Blown.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. This is a good motto for life, marriage and also for dropping stink bombs. The world has a lot to worry about; starvation, war, Donald Trump, etc.  And although your fanny-beeping may be loud and somewhat pungent, it is indeed trivial.

Leaving the room is too much work. If I actually got up and hid in the garage every time I felt my tushy tingling, I might as well stay in there. I’m not saying I have more gas than the average person but it happens. Daily. I also have three small children, a dog, a dirty house and absolutely no dignity.

I set the bar low. He’s seen me do worse. This man, this beautiful man, has seen me shit the table during childbirth. A fart cannot compare. A fart is a warm whisper of butthole love in comparison to the explosion of poop that happened in labor. Now that–that is true love.

Timing is everything. There’s such a thing called toot timing. For example, I am not going to let one rip and then snuggle up to my husband for a little hanky-panky. I’m not an idiot. But if we’re settled in for the night and we are literally going to Netflix and Chill, what’s the harm? Just avoid whistling your sphincter right before, during or immediately after coitus.

Freedom. I can be myself. I have complete freedom to cut the cheese with a smile plastered on my face and receive a high-five from The Hubs. I can let one rip on a boat, on a train. In the dark or in the rain. I can rip one here or there—I can rip one anywhere!

Holding in gas is bad for you. Holding on to a fart is like holding on to anger; it will grow in the pit of your stomach until it erupts at an untimely moment. No one wants anger-diarrhea or literal diarrhea to spew out at a work event or a children’s talent show. You must let it loose as you feel it come, for your health and that of those around you.

Give and take. The liberty of anal saluting is a two-way street. It is a practice course in giving and also in receiving. And as you sit in a cloud of your own stale wind, look at your partner and recognize you indeed have something special.

There are few milestones in a relationship that can be marked with such caustic fragrance; take a deep breath and appreciate the level of comfort that comes with sharing an air bagel with the one that you love.

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