Monday, 13 July 2015

Marriage and the F-word.

Partners for Life; Ganesha and Riddhi (or Siddhi?)
Having just celebrated 26 years of married life, I am left to ponder the little idiosyncrasies of Living Together For So Long.  Sure, we are Poetry in Motion.  Puzzle pieces fitting together to create a beautiful picture, weft and warp threads in a beautiful tapestry and all that stuff.
But I have to face the Big Secret of Marriage and the F-Word!  Farts.  And Fart Barometers.
Anyone who has been married more than 20 years, to the same guy will identify with my expose' on Life with Long-term Partnership.  I guess time breaks down ALL BARRIERS and we get to intimately know all the good and bad points of someone else!

I'm talking Matches, and Fire and Brimstone.  He thinks he can disguise his smells by lighting a match!!  Not sure if it makes it any better - smells like a sulfuric volcano eruption just happened right in our own bathroom!  "I wouldn't go in there if I were you!" has come to hold some brevity - I take the warning seriously, in an attempt to prolong my life.  Luckily we are a 2-Lavatory household!  I can always zip upstairs.
"It wasn't me!"             No, we don't have a dog we can blame!
My beloved has a fascination for Food and Farts.  "I seem to be very windy today.  I wonder what I ate that caused this?  Do you think it was the carrot?  Or the custard slice this morning?"  I remind him that EVERYTHING seems to have the same effect on his digestive/elimination state.  Nah, it just is what it is, I'll say philosophically.  "Don't you think it's important to analyse it and understand what causes it?"

I ponder this question for a long while, then say as diplomatically as I can, : "Why not keep a Food and Fart Journal?  That way you can analyse it.  By Yourself.  Please?  And that will help keep a little fantasy/intimacy/privacy in our relationship.  I mean, what will we discussing at 80yrs of age??"

This guy's sweet, charming, well-read, intelligent, spiritual, sensitive, all that and more - but he is one helluva farter - he can fart anything from God save the Queen to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata!   "Pfu... fee.... pop! Drrt... Bart! Vzzt".... a right Royal rhythmic percussion of the Old Brown One.  Followed by a feeble "Scuse me!"  Problem is, he likes to leave the door to the Throne open. Not that it makes much difference if the door is shut!
Bonnie and Clyde. Angelina and Brad.Partners.For good and for bad.
Forgiveness is the Key!
When we have guests, I'll run to put on the music system to drown out the Royal Percussives if I know he has removed himself to the Throne.  "Futz-futz-futz-futz......" like a scooter taking off.  Then a "I can't help it!  It's what you feed me!"  and a whiny' "We can't all fart eau d' cologne in a melodious way!"  And not to mention the wear and tear on undies - I have been known to darn exhaust holes blasted clean through cotton/elastane which succumbs to the sulfuric fumes.   Is is just a Man Thing?  We have tried various foods and remedies - all in vain.
"I can't help it!"
So I am thinking - we are hell-bent on living sustainably.  And you know the saying:" If life gives you lemons, make lemonade!" - well, I have just recently seen a methane gas converter on the internet.  I wonder if I could hook up my man - to power all our gas cooking needs??  I mean, it's after all, just a lot of hot air.  
Enough to power a hot air balloon from Katikati all the way to Te Puke.

Cooking with gas conjures up a whole new meaning....
Releasing the pressure with an ear candle!

Just a thought....

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