There are some things I will hold on to forever (disdain over Ryan Reynolds marrying Blake Lively instead of me is the first that comes to mind), but a fart is not one of them. In my opinion, a healthy relationship is built upon not being shy about opening up the door and letting in a little backyard breeze. With that said, I find it perfectly acceptable to fart in front of my husband. Here is my reasoning:
1. We agreed for better or for worse.
OK, I’m paraphrasing here since our vows consisted of Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics, but it is the 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. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. 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 during labor. Now, that, that is true love.
6. 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.
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 my husband. 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!
8. 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.
9. 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.