The other day my four-year-old farted on me as a defense mechanism while I was tickling him, like a squid inking a predator or a skunk dropping a stink bomb when he’s afraid. He thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever done and then decided to repeat the hilarity until his eyes watered with the effort of squeezing out the last molecules of gas from his small body. He laughed, and I composed this letter in my head.
If I could impart upon you only one piece of advice in the eighteen years before I release you into the world it would be this: someday you’re going to meet a girl and fall in love, and you’re going to want to share every part of yourself with her. You will share your hopes, your dreams, your soul-crushing insecurities and everything you learned in space camp when you were eight, but DO NOT, under any circumstances fart in front of her. If you do, you’d better blame it on the dog.
I have to confess that, as your mother and as a woman, I’ve been lying to you for years. Your bodily functions are not cute, and they most definitely are not for sharing. Sure, when you were three and you learned to belch the alphabet which made your little brother laugh so hard he farted at the dinner table, we all laughed: your father, because he still has the sense of humor of a kindergartener, and I, to mask my horror.
I wanted you to feel secure and confident in your body, so I smiled along with the poop jokes, follow-throughs, and armpit farts. Don’t even get me started on the state of your laundry. I am proud that I raised a young man who is comfortable with himself and is not ashamed of his body. Yet I feel I may have done you a slight disservice when it comes to marital advice. The truth is, women don’t want to think about your bodily functions any more than you will like thinking about theirs.
Let’s face it, I made that rectum and if I don’t think what’s coming out of it is all adorable puppies and rainbows then no woman ever will.
Sounds simple enough, right? Well, here’s where it gets a little more complicated. Women often mistake comfort and familiarity with intimacy, and there may come a time when the love of your life urges you to make yourself at home with her: fart in the same room, pee with the door open, and belch with impunity.
Guess what? She’s lying.
The worst part is she doesn’t even know she’s lying yet. You’re just going to have to trust me, as the woman who has gotten you this far in life, that the secret to a long-lasting and satisfying sex life is deception… at least when it comes to your excretions.
Every dump you take while she’s in the shower gets filed away in some Pandora’s Box of memories that will only open twenty years, thirty pounds, two kids, and more “head aches” and cold showers than you care to remember later. By then, it might be too late.
I speak from experience, as I used to be one of those girls imploring my boyfriend to bring me into his secret life by sharing with me all of his mortal flaws. I was like a siren tempting his ship toward the jagged rocks with my promise that I’d rather stay on the phone while he pooped than hang up one minute earlier. I was a fool in love, and I thought the key to a lasting relationship was to look like an old married couple.
I patted myself on the back the first time he peed while I was in the room.
I started picking out china patterns the first time he let me pop a pimple on his back.
I named our unborn children the day he rushed into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth, pants around his ankles, eyes wild and in the throws of poop-sweats.
Who says true romance is dead?
For a while, my plan worked perfectly. I knew all his dirty little secrets and habits, and our bedroom antics had never been more satisfying. But then, something changed. Suddenly, I couldn’t unlearn his bowel schedules and I struggled to quiet my mind as he’d saunter into the bedroom, belt-buckle undone, slap a magazine on the nightstand and commence giving me the bedroom eyes. Did he wash his hands?
The hairs I’d plucked and the pimples I’d popped, which had once held such promise, were now… just kind of gross.
Save yourself years in couple’s counseling and sex therapy and heed my advice now. Let her into your heart, your soul and your home. Endeavor to be honest with her as much as possible.
Remember, there are some images you don’t want in your lady’s mind, and I promise you will come a time when she won’t be able to get them out of hers. If you ever need something on our near your scrotum inspected, seek prompt medical attention. Not even your mother wants to see that stuff. That’s what doctors are for.
Always wax your butt in private, fart in the bathroom, and lock the door when you poop. No matter what she says.
She will thank you someday.