Monday, February 25, 2013

Putta putta putta PARP!

Regular readers will know that I fart (often) and ain't afraid to admit it.

The relief of being open about this might be a reaction to the first twenty years of my life when my brothers remained quite convinced that girls (or, at the very least, their sister), never ever needed to pass wind.  To counteract this belief, they would regularly take gleeful pleasure in 'performing' a few right in my face in order to remind me that such a bodily function existed.  Both brothers would be out of the door and way out of dead-leg range before I could struggle to my feet from my half-lying stance in the beanbag.

By age twenty five I had found Love Chunks, we were newly engaged and thrilled to rent our first place together; a shocker of a 1960's flat with cement brick walls, pond scum carpet and a head-sized hole in the bathroom.  His illusions as to my fart-free status were shattered in minutes after mock chasing me into the living room in an attempt to 'dack' me.

To non-Aussies, a 'dacking' usually involves:
a) cleverly spotting that your victim (the 'dackee') is wearing a skirt, pair of trousers or shorts with an elastic waistband;
b) noting that the dackee is in a relaxed state and easy to tackle; and
c) seizing the chance to run up, dive into a rugby pose and PULL DOWN THEIR PANTS in a nanosecond, all the while hoping that their undies stay up.

Love Chunks was in the midst of this manoeuvre when my defence mechanism - for so many years kept hidden - went into full defence mode.  Putta putta putta PARP PARP PARP!  For a moment afterwards, we both froze. I was half bent over, in shock and embarrassment at the enormous fart that had emerged; LC was just in shock.  "Bah hah hah hah hah...!" he went, doubling over himself, before wisely deciding to stand upright again and wildly open the door to and fro in an effort to get some fresh air into the room.

That occasion, with its total lack of dignity, freed me up to let it out and be proud. In the ladies' toilets at several work places, I'd be aware of women in the other stalls doing their best to whizz silently against the bowl, or cough when a Tony Abbott or two was about to drop.  "Hey there!  We're all in here for the same reason - drops and plops - so why bother hiding it?"

And thus, with the nineties and noughties long behind me and the teens continuing, my rowdy rear end continues to seek the limelight, whether it's wanted or not.

With Sapphire away in the UK for the weekend with her friends, LC and I took the opportunity to go skiing with two other couples in nearby La Clusaz, France.  Now, LC is utterly hooked on this hurtling down icy sixty-degree-angle mountain sides on skinny planks malarkey whereas for me it is rewarding and occasionally exhilarating but always terrifying.  As such, he's lining up for the lifts as soon as they open and has to be pushed off by the snow plow drivers at dusk but I'm ready to quit at lunchtime and have a nanna nap/spa/shower/inhale chocolate/read magazines in our room.

Luckily for me, Slimey's wife Gianna is of a similar disposition.  We'd done a full morning and my legs were no longer listening to my commands, preferring instead to point in the direction of the chairlift back into town.  At one stage they'd buckled underneath me and I found myself on my stomach and legs spread rather unflatteringly in both directions. All I need was someone to draw a circle around my fallen figure in the snow and a human Peace Sign would be evident.

Time to call it a day.  LC and I had already checked out of our room after breakfast, but Gianna and Slimey were there for another night. "No problem, Kath. Get changed in our room and use Slimey's towel - he won't mind."

Now, I've only known Gianna for two years but already love, trust, admire and enjoy her company immensely. We'd shared many stories and adventures together and I always looked forward to seeing her when she was in Geneva. Getting changed in front of her was a new level of intimacy for sure, but not one that phased me. 

It was what occurred in her bathroom a minute later that had me in an anxious sweat.  

Putta putta putta PARP PARP PARP!  Yep, my ginormous glutes decided to emit their version of a loud gaseous staccato roar that swept out of the bowl, across the tiles, out the door and through the alpine valley causing trees to quiver and drop their icicles onto the slopes, creating avalanches that swept down into the township below.  

As with Love Chunks' first experience of my articulate arse, there was a silence from the other side of the bathroom door.  It was me who broke it. "Er, I'm guessing that staying in a wooden chalet hotel means that you heard everything my 'tocks just tooted...?"

Sniggering was all the answer I needed. "I'm married to Slimey," she managed between gasps, "but I'm not entirely sure that he didn't also hear it up there on the red run."  

"Don't worry, I'd already taken his bathrobe off...."

There really is no going back after farting in front of a friend.


















When we arrived home last night and downloaded our photos, this one seemed eerily appropriate.  Camera angle or honest truth, it was a blessing that no-one sat on my right hand side.

21 comments:

Anji said...

Now I understand why there have been more avalanches than usual this year...

Kath Lockett said...

Yep. It's as good a reason as any!

Plastic Mancunian said...

Bonjour Kath,

When a female friend of Mrs PM's announces she is in a relationship, Mrs PM asks:

"Have you passed the fart barrier yet?"

Mrs PM bounded over "the Fart Barrier" within days of our getting together.

:0)

Cheers

PM

drwife said...

Ha Ha Ha! Laughed out loud. My mother is here visiting and has been "making her presence known". My boys think it is hilarious when Grandma toots.

Good for you for skiing. I'm too scared to try but I'm sure we are missing out on a great part of living in Switzerland.

Andrew said...

There may be no going back, but that is not an excuse for free trumpeting in front of the friend in the future. I'm sure she deserves better.

Pandora Behr said...

As the owner of a bum trumpet like yours I understand where you're coming from.

Farts are something to be proud of!

Alexia said...

Have you ever noticed, Kath, that one's own farts don't smell? Other people's (for example husbands') smell much worse!!

Ann ODyne said...

this guy was a wealthy superstar of the 19thC - Le Pétomane en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Pétomane
Le Pétomane left an enduring legacy and has inspired a number of artistic works. These include several musicals based on his life, such as The Fartiste ..

that is all. X X

wilbo43 said...

What a shame you didn't have Milly with you. It would have been easy to say: 'Milly how could you?'

Kath Lockett said...

PlasMan I like how Mrs PM thinks!

'Making your presence known', drwife, is a lovely way of putting it!

Andrew, please rest assured that once the 'fart barrier' (thanks Mrs PM) is passed, it is still not a free-for-all. I do my best to 'contain my emotions' but sometimes, even with the best of intentions, some of 'em burst out. Usually when I'm bending over in a hurry.

They are, Pand, they are. Admit it was you; then laugh: pride or avoiding humiliation in front of others, it doesn't really matter.

Sadly, Alexia, my quiet ones do. The loud ones, not at all!

Ann ODyne, you've chosen my weekend reading and viewing for me already :)

Wilbo43, I wish that Milly was that reliable but her detectable emissions are eerily few and far between for an ageing dog..

Red Nomad OZ said...

In Asia, Pilchard would be known as 'Fah Ting' ... but weirdly, HE says that should be MY name! I guess that means the 'fart barrier' has been well and truly passed (so to speak).

Thanx for making me laugh out loud!!!!

The Elephant's Child said...

Loud smiles. Thanks Kath.

River said...

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!!
Love this story.
and when I read "inhale chocolate" I got a little envious. For reasons totally unknown to me, I haven't been buying or eating any for several weeks now. Mostly, I just don't want any, but sometimes.....in the wee hours when I'm awake and reading, or when I read about others eating chocolate, I wish I had a bit in the fridge.

Kath Lockett said...

RedNomadOz, I'm sure that Fah Ting is glad of separate sleeping bags when you're camping...?

It's a pleasure, E-Child. Here's something else I've learned the hard way: don't fart in your ski trousers. Due to being fairly tightly pressed up against your jacket, it rises up and puffs out by your neckline, thus getting you right in the face. Revenge perfected.

Thanks River. You should always have chocolate somewhere. Even if it needs to be hidden sometimes. My mother used to hide hers under the sewing machine!



diane b said...

Heee heee thanks for the laugh. You sure have passed he fart barrier with all your blog friends now, My worst fart moment was when one escaped in front of my class when teaching.I don't think the kids thought that teachers ever farted by the look on their faces. They were nearly as shocked as when I removed my jumper in front of them but my shirt came off as well.

Kath Lockett said...

dianeb, sounds like the embarrassments of being a teacher is a MUST WRITE blog subject for you!

Kath Lockett said...

I think that some comments might have been deleted - I do remember seeing Man at the Pub who has been absent (new father stuff) for a while. Welcome back!

Jackie K said...

Yanni and I only passed the fart barrier after some YEARS (!) but I often wish he'd put his barrier back up....
My skiing experiences were like yours and my favourite part was always the flat run back to the chalet and bar.

Kath Lockett said...

YEARS, Jackie K? That's some incredible self-control!

nuttynoton said...

Mrs NN claimed I never farted when we were3 first getting together, she does not take the excuse of IBS, but i am not sure if it is my age it seems to be getting worse!

This made me laugh thanks

Kath Lockett said...

Age is most definitely a factor - for me at least, nuttynoton. Age + a lack of anxiety, perhaps?