There is actually a National Fart Day. Today is National Prayer Day, but my siblings turned it into a spoof and brought up National Fart Day.
Gassers, a.k.a. farts are taboo in polite society. Yet sometimes, they are heard or dealt even in the most polite company.
Sometimes it can’t be helped. Sometimes it can.
Probably all of us have a gasser story of our own, a memory too embarrassing to forget.
Such as the student in her music history exam, the room silent, and the noise her body made rang out as she held it in, I don’t know how many decibels, but no one snickered, no one said anything. She wanted to disappear into thin air, but if she moved, they would for sure know who dealt it.
Then there is the memory of the fifth grader. She raised her hand to be excused to use the restroom in the back of class. Unbeknownst to her, her body was about to produce a huge noise, pretty much a “boom” while she was in the restroom. The young student froze. Listened, mortified. No one was laughing in the room out there, but she couldn’t make herself open the restroom door. She stayed right there until the bell rang and her classmates had left the room.
My childhood neighbors got a tape recorder for Christmas. They used it to record their gassers. It was funny. Along that line, a friend told me her husband and their three boys were spending New Year’s Eve in the playroom having a gasser and burp contest. I guess guys do that.
I can remember being a teenager, wondering, “What do I do if I’m on a date and it’s hard to hold it in?” I decided then and there to not date.
Well, I did date. Things went okay, pretty much. Once, on a hike high up in Utah, I had to, so I lagged behind for a minute. My friend came back to join me. “No, no! I’ll catch up!” I said.
There was a poster at the health food store that showed illustrations of what food combinations caused… gas.
It was pretty correct. Banana and peanut butter sandwiches, right? That kind of thing.
What about beans? My mom didn’t cook with beans. Now, as an adult, I realize why. We had a large family. We often watched TV together.
So, my first experience with beans was at my in-laws’ house. They served pinto beans, salsa, onions, butter, and cheddar cheese. It was so delicious I had seconds. It was so delicious I wasn’t looking around to see if anyone was noticing or trying to warn me not to. After dinner was TV time. There, on the couch, sandwiched between in-laws, I felt the urge to get to the bathroom quickly and got up, but it was too late. My first pinto bean gasser.
Memories like those are forever. We don’t eat many beans in our home, or too much of the cabbage dishes, broccoli, bananas, etc. My husband is very polite.
“We sleep together,” he reminded me once as I was going for seconds of coleslaw.
Simple combinations, small amounts, beans cooked with potatoes and carrots to absorb what makes them cause that…
Fiber is real good stuff. Necessary. The gastrointestinal professionals know all about how the GI tract processes everything. I won’t go into it here. But we all know our bodies and what happens.
My “upline” of a protein powder multi-level marketing company sold me on the most wonderful protien powder mix. It produced such delicious flavor that people literally licked the last drops out of the glass. She told me to just mix it with water or almond milk or coconut milk. I didn’t know about those milks back then. I was a 2% cows milk woman. She didn’t say, “Whatever you do, as God is my witness, do not mix this with cow’s milk.”
Had she told me that, I wouldn’t have, and I would’ve avoided an epic moment where someone went into the elevator I was leaving. This IS funny. I looked back and saw him run from the elevator. I ran down the hall, but he probably saw me long enough to know me next time.
A Mormon guy told me in Utah he was storing up pounds and pounds of dry pinto beans as part of his survivalist menu. I thought, “Oh gee, won’t that be fun!”
Letters To A Puzzled World 