I haven’t figured out why, but sometimes I wake up farting.
You’d think that after 35 years I would have reverse engineered this algorithm, but I truly haven’t.
Now, I know this topic seems incredibly immature and sophomoric, but let me explain myself.
I estimate that 95% of the time when I wake up, I do not start the day destroying my bedroom. But this morning I did.
So, let’s go back to yesterday and see if we can solve this mystery. I ate a protein bar in the morning, and then sadly nothing until about 9pm. That is incredibly unhealthy, but I was slammed and didn’t schedule eating. So maybe that threw off my intestines. When I finally got around to dinner I ate brown rice, turkey, and a handful of Good & Plenty candy.
I understand that the majority of adults with tastebuds think that black licorice is awful, and adding a candy coating does not improve upon said awfulness. But they were priced at four for three dollars at CVS, and a good deal can always turn this girl’s head.
Oh, I also had a Buckler which is one of the super-classy NA beers.
A few years ago I started a Facebook group entitled O’Doul’s Amber – For When Regular O’Doul’s Just Doesn’t Cut It. I thought this to be hilarious and would attract a ton on non-alcohol connoisseurs like myself. Currently we have twenty seven members. Not exactly the bustling community of sober beer drinkers I was trying to forge.
In the interest of full disclosure, not that you asked or are interested, but last night I also evacuated my bowels before bed. I call any time this happens in the evening a P.M.B.M. (post meridiem bowel movement). I share this because some people mistakenly think gas is a precursor to going number two. Well, you’re wrong, stupid!
Then I drank a glass of water and went to bed. Decent dreams.
So, what went wrong? The only culprit I can surmise is the licorice or the Buckler. But I’m really not sure.
Here’s why I care. One of my biggest fears is that I start a relationship with some nice woman, take her to bed, and she wakes up to death. You’d have to dump a guy for that.
I have no problem if she leaves because she thinks I’m ugly or that my personality is akin to undiagnosed borderline-narcissism, but not because I can’t control my sphincter.
You may think I’m exaggerating, but I am not. I have seen not one, but TWO gastroenterologists over the years. Both just sort of shrugged and said, “Stay away from dairy.”
Oh well, I’ll just build a little failure into the model. The next two women in my life will leave me because of my angry b–hole.
It’s my burden.