Super Powers
a la Ellen. Over at her kingdom, she’s discussing what super human ability we each have, and what would our name be in light of this amazing ability.
I am Super Sphincter. I will not fart. Unless I am aaaaallllll alone, and no one will be entering the room any time soon. And even then, I try not to. I may drop menstrual pads out the leg of my pants in grocery stores, but farting? Not me. Very Mom’s recent post on the 9th about farting in yoga class. A lot. Horrifies me. I now know I will never be a yoga master. If all the reeeelaaaaaax and breeeeathe and twisting the innards causing one to fart. Out loud. In public. I’m not going there. Ever. And for the first 4 years of our marriage, I wouldn’t poo if my husband was home. I waited. Till he was gone. Didn’t want any trace of ever having pooed to even be in the house. I told him I never went. I was superhuman. I had no need. Imagine his glee when during the birth or our second, and the mystery of marriage being anilhilated by the birth and c-section of our first (I mean, come on, he saw my stomach, the organ, on the table beside me), he actually saw me poo during the pushing. It was a great moment for him. But I’ve pretended in the last 8 years it. never. happened. No. It did not. He just thinks it did. Because I am Super Sphincter. I can hold it. Forever if necessary.
My husband says that if one holds gaseous matter inside, the laws of nature and physics just insist it must exit somewhere. In my case, he says, it most surely explains why I just talk so freakin much. It’s got to come out somewhere. Just as long it ain’t from down there, I’m good. And look! You can get as good as I am too, and never have to fart again!
