it's a gas....
I think I may have to become a picky eater. Events of the last few days are forcing my hand, as I am overcome with shame in a myriad of ways, and must avoid them recurring.

A few weeks ago, me and the better half decided that we would bulk buy tinned goods to save buying them every week (or prepare for the Nuclear winter...). To save a bit of cash on this exercise, we thought we should get 'em from a well known retailer, sounds like T to tha m*thaf*ckin esco.

Anyway, a weekend activity that has gained popularity recently is to eat a lot of tinned sweet corn and then serenade each other with impressive emissions from our prosteriors. Nice, eh? We've been together six years now, and gas ain't gonna come between us now(just strain things slightly).

However, upon feeding this weekend, I forgot the consequences of excessive sweet corn consumption and merrily chowed away while conversing with the visiting mother in law to be.

Cue half an hour later to when we are watching a tense psychological thriller on DVD. I am rapidly inflating with fetid gas as I struggle to hold in what would normally be proudly expelled (and danced and sung about).

When the pain becomes unbearable, I excuse myself to the kitchen. Upon entering I shut the door, open the window, and hang my arse out while expelling the kind of flatulence that would have uni students the world over applauding. I am prone to exaggeration, but on this occasion I swear to you I am not. My expulsions lasted for well over a minute.

Finally the performance ends, and I remember there is a lunar eclipse tonight, so promptly hang my head out the window to have a look.

Yup, there were a couple of dozen people from my block of flats standing outside my kitchen window. All rugged up with telescopes and duvets.

And it gets worse. Thoroughly ashamed (but strangely proud) I return to the living room to watch the rest of the film. By and by the mother in law leaves to make use of the facilities, and I turn to the wonderful love of my life to relate the above story to her, to which she replies, "I know, we heard it. Mum was well impressed. But very well done dear!".

And it gets even worse. Today I am at work and the rumblings have not ceased. So I sti uncomfortably at my desk making frequent trips to the toilets to let out some truly impressive trumpets. Only problem being, I forgot my security pass, and now, when I complete a performance, I have to wait around in the fuggy, foul smelling stairwell, until someone with their pass comes along and opens the door I need.

Short version? I won't be eating that brand of sweetcorn anymore. Well, at least not until mother in law goes home.

Length? It brought about a temporary Lunar eclipse.
(lessmiserable, Mon 5 Mar 2007, 14:17, Reply)