Just like our parents taught us, there’s a time and a place for everything. And farting is no different. While guys can be forward and direct and just let ‘em rip and talk about them (instead of feelings) for hours, for women, farting is an entirely different beast. So pay attention here, ladies, Farty Frieda is here to provide you with an invaluable lesson on letting the ass gas go.
As we all continue to learn and grow from others, it truly is my pleasure to share the secrets I’ve picked up from my variety of lovely lady friends when it comes to finding the right time, place and method to letting your trouser coughs go in front of loved ones new and old. For me, my best first air biscuit in front of a loved one came when I was in the hospital – farting is the first sign that your body is working again after going under for surgery. It was a new relationship and for sure the best ice breaker. But we’re not all so (un)lucky to have a funny story like that.
Take my younger sister (please!) – she’s your average college kid, always has a date on Friday and Saturday nights, straight A student. But she can’t fart in front of anyone: mom, dad, boyfriends, cousins and she even blames the dog when she lets off an ass rocket. But she has owned a few choice bombs in her history after having her third glass of Pinot. For her, being connected to a fart is truly a feat worse than wearing white after Labor Day. But it sure is funny when her blush isn’t just from the vino. I keep telling her that the best way to release the butt hounds is to do it silently and have fun with it: hug a family member, let it slide then blame them! But no, she insists on excusing herself, walking to the restroom and releasing there. Or at a family barbecue, walking to the other side of the house. She might as well just carry a can of room spray she’s so polite.
For other hens in the house, subtlety is completely lost and they’d just rather take the fall for the rump shaker. Like my mom. Mom loves tushie trivia: Like finding the source of the gas leak in the house, she enjoys figuring out just what she ate that’s responsible for the assignation. Was it the tacos? The milk? The coffee? It’s like fart-accompanied multiple-choice exams. But fun. Her rumblers are less entertainment and more trivia, and it’s a great way to take the focus off the stench when the answer truly is dairy related.
Then there’s me, Farty Frieda. It used to be just Frieda. But like all good things, I like to take personal ownership of the tasks I’ve mastered, and farting is most certainly one of them. I name them: Dairy Doozies, Flame Throwers, Green Fogs, Lingerer, Loud But Proud, Machine Gunners and Singing Elephants. My theory is that the best way to let ’em fly is to just own it. Be proud!
So whether you’re hush-hush about the puffers, inquisitive about the source of the leak or you wear your stink bombs like a badge of pride, farting for women is truly a reflection of our personalities.