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An Air of DiscontentAn annoying habit stunk up the relationship, until revenge was exacted.
April Johnson
Tony can try to blame the dog, but Scout knows better. |
I’ve long abhorred the double standard society. Men, at least, have seemed to impose how the sexes handle certain compulsions that afflict all of us. Women are beautiful flowers and as such, couldn’t possibly need to do disgusting things like sweat, burp, fart or anything in the bathroom beyond powdering our noses and adjusting our push up bras. Men, on the other hand, well that’s a different story. They proudly boast at the boa sized "snakes" left in the john, burp with undulating mouths agape, grab and scratch their crotches and offer fingers to be pulled or worse yet, silently poison our air with stink bombs, then laugh maniacally as accusations fly.
I’m in no way saying I want to be able to do any of these aforementioned things with aplomb. I just think that if ladies are expected to carry themselves as graceful swans, then why must we walk next to a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal?
Maybe I’m being harsh, but let me explain. Remember during the courtship stage when guys shaved and sucked in their guts and more? Somewhere along the way we all got comfortable. Women aren’t innocent either—suddenly well-maintained bikini lines and fancy undergarments fell by the wayside too, right? It just seemed like as Tony and I grew more familiar with one another, certain things "revealed" themselves, one of which really irked me.
One day, with no forewarning, it suddenly happened. A big gassy release of epic proportions erupted. We looked at each other, me in horror, Tony in delight. From then, it’s become a normal part of life. There’s variation, like when he started blaming our dog, Scout, even when he was in the other room. I started to get really annoyed when I asked him to not be so overt or joyous about it. Like, go outside for a second, will ya? He didn’t heed my warnings and continued to do it just to get a rise from me, like pulling pigtails in grade school. I tried to be humorous about it, but enough was enough! I thought about how I could make him understand what it’s like for me. I decided to fight fire with fire.
It started out as an exciting trip to Mammoth for a snowboarding weekend. After we checked into our hotel room, Tony let a few rip. I asked him to please give it a rest, especially since we were in much closer quarters. He didn’t and I snapped. Screaming "Game On!" I told him that if he wanted to play that game, I’d follow suit. He mocked me and squeaked out another, taunting me. I steadied myself and broke the conventions I’d always upheld by squeezing with all my might. The look on Tony’s face was priceless. He was absolutely disgusted, and now I was pleased. I asked him how it felt now to be on the receiving end of another’s expelled evil. He wasn’t ready to discuss it like adults.
The evening wore on and he tempted fate yet again. "Game On!" I said and matched his squiffer as if this was some sick game of Simon. He couldn’t believe his ears and lamented at how crude I was. I countered again with the logic that if he disliked listening to someone else’s blatant death poots he shouldn’t execute his own. By Tony’s third air attack, he practically shrieked as I readied for my battle cry and rebuttal. Calling a truce, he promised to respect me and take it outside. Satisfied, I immediately morphed back into the refined, sophisticated flower and basked in the glow of victory.
I’d be lying if I said things have been all quiet on the western front since that fateful trip. No, Scout still gets blamed all the time for flamethrowers, and I’ve threatened "Game On!" on more than one occasion. But, we’ve never had to engage in that silly game again because Tony can never again doubt the fury I’ve threatened to bring in retaliation. Gas and all kinds of unmentionables are normal functions that all of us deal with, and it’s not about feeling shame or abnormal. But, having the thoughtfulness to be discreet on behalf of your better half is just something we do out of respect and kindness. Well, unless you two are the competitive sort.
Married since April 2006, April and Tony brave the craziness of So Cal living and have loads of entertaining tales to regale.
I’m in no way saying I want to be able to do any of these aforementioned things with aplomb. I just think that if ladies are expected to carry themselves as graceful swans, then why must we walk next to a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal?
Maybe I’m being harsh, but let me explain. Remember during the courtship stage when guys shaved and sucked in their guts and more? Somewhere along the way we all got comfortable. Women aren’t innocent either—suddenly well-maintained bikini lines and fancy undergarments fell by the wayside too, right? It just seemed like as Tony and I grew more familiar with one another, certain things "revealed" themselves, one of which really irked me.
One day, with no forewarning, it suddenly happened. A big gassy release of epic proportions erupted. We looked at each other, me in horror, Tony in delight. From then, it’s become a normal part of life. There’s variation, like when he started blaming our dog, Scout, even when he was in the other room. I started to get really annoyed when I asked him to not be so overt or joyous about it. Like, go outside for a second, will ya? He didn’t heed my warnings and continued to do it just to get a rise from me, like pulling pigtails in grade school. I tried to be humorous about it, but enough was enough! I thought about how I could make him understand what it’s like for me. I decided to fight fire with fire.
It started out as an exciting trip to Mammoth for a snowboarding weekend. After we checked into our hotel room, Tony let a few rip. I asked him to please give it a rest, especially since we were in much closer quarters. He didn’t and I snapped. Screaming "Game On!" I told him that if he wanted to play that game, I’d follow suit. He mocked me and squeaked out another, taunting me. I steadied myself and broke the conventions I’d always upheld by squeezing with all my might. The look on Tony’s face was priceless. He was absolutely disgusted, and now I was pleased. I asked him how it felt now to be on the receiving end of another’s expelled evil. He wasn’t ready to discuss it like adults.
The evening wore on and he tempted fate yet again. "Game On!" I said and matched his squiffer as if this was some sick game of Simon. He couldn’t believe his ears and lamented at how crude I was. I countered again with the logic that if he disliked listening to someone else’s blatant death poots he shouldn’t execute his own. By Tony’s third air attack, he practically shrieked as I readied for my battle cry and rebuttal. Calling a truce, he promised to respect me and take it outside. Satisfied, I immediately morphed back into the refined, sophisticated flower and basked in the glow of victory.
I’d be lying if I said things have been all quiet on the western front since that fateful trip. No, Scout still gets blamed all the time for flamethrowers, and I’ve threatened "Game On!" on more than one occasion. But, we’ve never had to engage in that silly game again because Tony can never again doubt the fury I’ve threatened to bring in retaliation. Gas and all kinds of unmentionables are normal functions that all of us deal with, and it’s not about feeling shame or abnormal. But, having the thoughtfulness to be discreet on behalf of your better half is just something we do out of respect and kindness. Well, unless you two are the competitive sort.
Married since April 2006, April and Tony brave the craziness of So Cal living and have loads of entertaining tales to regale.
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