August 24, 2010
I have no idea how Jared will be able to get through his day at work. Now it's not anything super horrible like a law suit, or a pink slip, or a seven hour conference call without a six foot sandwich, but it's almost as bad.
The man has an incredible case of the farts right now.
Last night, his gas was so intense, that it woke me out of a dead sleep at least three or four times. There I was, floating through a gigantic dreamy room full of helium balloons, when all of the sudden I was startled awake. But instead of screaming, I was like, "Oh, ew. Oh my..... *cough cough* Jared, I think I'm choking!" And I was forced to throw open the sash, stick my head into the cold night air, and fight for my breath--just like the dad in The Night Before Christmas.
Let's just go ahead and file the whole experience under the WRETCHED tab.
This morning, I've got to admit that the insane farting had wandered away from my mind. I was definitely more focused on slapping together a couple of triple decker peanut butter and jelly sandwiches--you know, for my professional health care provider husband. He likes Goldfish crackers and juice boxes, too--but not Capri Suns, I think they're too sugary for his body.
I finished making his lunch and hopped into the shower--and let me just say that I love my morning shower. It's all hot, and steamy (I'm being literal here, so let's just choose the right, okay?), and no one bothers me. It's the eight minutes I have to myself every day, and I will freely admit that I cherish and protect that time above all else.
So there I was, soaping up my undercarriage, when all the sudden, I caught a whiff of something fierce. Something that reminded me all to well of a moldy salami and cheese sandwich, in a cow barn, with poop stacked up to the ceiling. It came from my husband's colon, and it was humid in that bathroom, so the smell just lingered.
The rest of the morning was filled with occasional bursts of that same horrific--and confusing--smell. Jared said he was trying to get it all out of his system since his day is totally stacked with patients. Well, I hope he laid something completely amazing in his station wagon during his morning commute, because I can promise that they weren't getting any milder around the dining room table.
I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he COULD NOT TRY TO SNEAK A FART IN WHILE HE'S TREATING A PATIENT TODAY. THERE'S NOTHING SNEAKY ABOUT THESE FARTS!
He agreed. If he needs to let one rip, he'll do it in the vault (his office used to be a bank). After all, if once upon a time it safely contained millions of dollars, it should definitely be able wrangle a little ol' fart or two, right?
Man I hope so.