My first son is the most flexible little child I have ever encountered when it comes to being able to take him out to stores, stay up late, sit in restaurants, etc. He almost rarely throws a tantrum, and when he does it lasts about 7 seconds before he calms down and moves on to something else that makes him happy. That is a fantastic thing for a couple like us – we found that having one child really wasn’t that different from having no children. We still went out as much as we wanted and pretty much wherever we wanted. It was that freedom that would ultimately lead to one of the most shameful moments of my life – and one of the awesomest.
It all took place at our local upscale mall. We were walking around enjoying a beautiful summer day, looking at stores and pretending we had the money to buy stuff. We passed by a Tiffany’s and I joked about going in to see how much it costs to get something there. We wandered in and fortunately it was packed, so no one was there to hassle us or stare us down for bringing an infant into the store. I carried my son – he was only about 5 months at the time.
My wife was browsing the rings and had found herself entranced by some very large gems. She flagged down a salesman and tried it on. It was beautiful and I was momentarily transfixed by its shininess. It was in the moment that I sensed something aweful had occurred. I didn’t quite know what it was, but the feeling was strong and came from the deepest caverns of my intuition. I looked down and saw a brown mush dripping down my arm. My heart stopped for a minute as I realized I was victim of a full on blow out – but how bad was the damage? My eyse followed the trail of dump as it dripped down my arm, onto my stomacy, all over my chest, and ultimately all over the store’s carpet in gigantic plops.
I grabbed my wife’s arm – “we gotta problem honey.” Her response was that the ring wasn’t as expensive as I would think. It was then her eyes followed mine down toward the ground and she shrieked. The saleswoman also saw it – and pointed to the back where there was a bathroom. We ran, me holding the child tightly to my chest to avoid any additional spillage. Once in the bathroom, I took of all my clothes and soaked them in the sink. Then we strippd our son naked and soaked his clothes. About 15 minutes later I was re-dressed in my soaking clothes and my son was wearing nothing but a diaper. We sat in there a bit longer and strategized our exit. Finally we agreed – let’s just run. So we flung the door open and ran out, passing the manager the floor scrubbing the stained carpet with a rag. The store was empty – my son’s butt had cleared the entire store.
A few months later I returned to the store incognito, wearing sunglasses and a hat. I had to know what had happened to the carpet. As I approached the rings, I noticed a large circle that was faded where my wife had been standing. I then followed several more circles leading toward the bathroom. I guess that ring was never meant to be.
This story comes from long time reader, first time writer who I will call D Fresh. While not a “blowout” story per se, it captures the spirit:
I was in San Diego working. My wife and two twin sons were all sick. One of the boys never pukes but the other and his mother are hardcore pukers at the drop of a hat. While the two boys are playing, the easy-puke son threw up on himself and his brother. My wife was obviously disgusted and threw the boys in the bathtub to get clean. A sensible thing to do for a mom, right?
Soon she hears them laughing and doesn’t think much about it. She goes in to check on them and the other son had pooped in the bathtub, which he was doing every four out of five trips to the bathtub at this point in his life. This time, they had put the poop in each other’s hair and were laughing every time they put on another piece. My wife was super-disgusted and throws them into the shower in the other bathroom. She figured she’d shower with them for craziness containment and efficiency of cleaing them up. As soon as she gets in, she gets overwhelmed with the smell of poop, already being nauseous, and hurls on both boys. To review, we went from one puking on two, then gelling each other’s hair with poop, to mom puking on both of the boys. The power of smell is amazing.
Let me give you a tip from a brand new parent of two little boys (coming direct from www.brotips.com):
That is about as true as a statement as you’ll ever read – here on He Shat She Shat or anywhere else. If you are the kind of male that won’t play pretend with your kid when he/she hands you a toy phone, you can go ahead and consider yourself a sucky parent. Period. If you are that person, there is still hope for you – but it is going to require that you don’t be such a piece of crap and learn to actually care about something other than yourself. You up for the challenge?
You know that pivotal moment when you need to fart in public and you try to judge whether it is going to be stank nasty or whether it will be completely scentless? Its a scary thing. You can think about the scent of your recent farts or even what you have eaten the past 24 hours, but you never really know what is going to happen. It seems completely random, doesn’t it? One moment you’ll be farting clean, odorless gas and then
you let another one slide and it completely fouls up the entire office!
Why is there so much variation in the smell of one’s gas and why does the stink vary even in people who are eating practically the same meals every day? Well, I took to googling it and stumbled upon an insightful article by Men’s Fitness
. Here is an excerpt that I think answers our question:
“Every person has a slightly different collection of bacteria and yeasts in their gut, and each organism contributes a slightly different nuance to the overall fragrance and volume of gas. Just as a fine wine keeps the palate stimulated with a variety of taste “notes,” each person’s unique batch of intestinal organisms lends shading to the stench of their farts. Your roommate (and my brother, apparently) simply have a collection of organisms that produce a horrid, malodorous, voluminous reek.”
So it is completely random! If you are one of those people that has a collection of organismis that produce a horrid, malodorous, voluminous reek (like myself), then you are just screwed for life. But my favorite thing about the article is that it offers a bit of hope at the end in a new product:
“In 1997, Chester Weimer was granted patent No. 5593398 entitled “Protective underwear with malodorous flatus filter.” The undergarment has a pocket on the rear that has a replaceable activated charcoal packet, which the subject farts through. The sound and odor are muffled by passage through the filter. I’d suggest buying a pair for your roommate and see if they work. If they do, you’ll be living in a more fart-free environment. If they don’t you will have a hilarious story to tell your friends. Either way it’s win-win for you.”
I have to get me some of these underwears…
I was in the bus the other day on my way to work. At the moment I was enjoying some Words With Friends time. Quick side note – how awesome is Words With Friends? It has the whole world playing one of my favorite games which is Scrabble. While I have been playing Scrabble online for about 11 years, I finally have many friends to play against and subsequently destroy over and over. It’s a great pride booster.
But I digress. I was on my way home when suddenly the air filled with putrid butt-raunched gas. Someone had effectively dropped a fart bomb in complete stealth mode – there was no indication as to who was the culprit and where they were sitting. I could tell that everyone wanted to look around and sniff the individual out. But we didn’t. You know why? Because society would have you believe that it’s more appropriate to pretend nothing happened then to divulge the perpetrator. Society would have you believe that if you can squeeze one out silently, you don’t have to own up to it. It’s that kind of behavior that leads people to commit crimes and other people to pretend they aren’t happening.
I think we should have to own up to our farts – in public or private. Clothing manufacturers should be required by law to line our pants with a special chemical that emits a purple glow when touched by human fart air. Then we would all just have to accept that we fart and, empowered with knowledge, we could move away from the person who has fouled our breathing supply. It might lead us all to eat better to avoid farting. It might lead to more mercy and patience with our fellow men and women. I think this could really change the human race for good.
HSSS, you a genius.
The good name of beans are always getting kicked around in the mud. These poor little beads of deliciousness are accustomed to taking the blame for all that air that explodes from your anus. They even have a product named after them – Beano – which helps you mitigate farts when eating food. I can’t help but wonder why they have been singled out as the culprit for gas? I mean, I won’t sit here and deny that beans make you fart. They do. But in the world of air creating food products, beans hardly make a dent in my gastronomical list of nightmares. Having discussed this with many individuals, I have also learned that we all have unique bodies, and fart triggering food differs from person to person.
For example, I quickly learned that pizza gives me mad gas. Not vegetable pizza or meat pizza – just pizza. I don’t know if it is the sugary marinara sauce or the carbs from the crust, but any night I have a pizza party, I eventually start dropping gas bombs at every turn. It’s an immediate reaction. Sugar in general seems to be a trigger – especially if I consume a lot of soda in a day. I have learned that the reason why I farted so much in high school and college was because I had about 66oz of Mountain Dew a day. That converted to about 300+ farts per 24 hour period.
But my biggest nemesis? GRANOLA CEREALS. Granola (or even worst, Cracklin’ Oat Bran) will literally convert my intestinal track into a weapon of mass destruction. Not only is the air compact and explosive, but it is coupled with a smell that would even offend the walking dead. It is heavy and lingers, and sticky so it attaches to your clothes. It’s almost humid enough to frizz out your hair if you walk by. You really don’t want to be around me for a day after I eat granola cereal.
What sets your butt off?