Holding it In

I was always told that there are certain things a lady shouldn't discuss ... but as you well know if you've read my blog for any amount of time, there's pretty much nothing taboo here at The Frump. On any given day, I might discuss pooping during childbirth, my battle with the beard, that "not-so-fresh" feeling, or whether or not ordinary household objects look like male genitalia. Some call it "candid," some call it "TMI" - but potato, potah-to. I call it "keepin' it real," y'all. That's why you love me, anyway, right?

... RIGHT??

*cricket, cricket*

Anyway, if you haven't read the aforementioned posts, and you're under the impression that I'm a polite, appropriate, bodily function-less lady, then perhaps you should click on over to something else in order to preserve your (totally wrong, but very sweet) opinion of me. Because today's blog topic could be considered a little on the raunchy side.

I'm talking about gas, people. And I don't mean the kind that costs an arm and a leg (and your firstborn) at the pump.

Now don't be acting like you're all self-righteous and never fart. I don't care who you are ... you slip one out occasionally. It's just what we humans are designed to do. However, our society is not designed to be all that accepting of it, which is why we hold it in at all costs.

I feel the need to admit that I eat a lot of fiber. (Seriously, if you've never had a Fiber One chewy bar? You are missing. The eff. Out.) I also usually stir a dissolvable, grit-free fiber powder into my water. Why? I'm not exactly sure, but it makes me feel healthier. The only bad thing is, it tends to make me kinda farty. That's not a bad thing when I'm wearing my "mommy-of-three-boys-who-think-farts-are-funny" hat, but when I'm playing most of other roles in my life, it's not exactly a welcome trait. Like when I'm trying to be sexy: that's not exactly the kind of "perfume" that makes your man wanna lean in closer, you know?

But my worst struggle with fiber-induced flatulence, by far, comes from Zumba class. And much like I feel I'm the only one in class who gets pit stains, I feel sadly isolated in my attempt to fight the fart. Sometimes I'll be Zumba-ing right along and bam!, there it is ... the dreaded bubble. I don't know what it is - all the hip-shaking, perhaps? - but Zumba really kicks the gas into gear.

I know what you're thinking. If you're going to get struck with the urge to fart, an aerobics class is probably the best place to do it. Right? I mean, the music is loud, and you're moving around anyway so you don't have to worry about doing one of those "inconspicuous lean" maneuvers. And even if there's a smell, no one could ever pinpoint you directly, given that you're in a group.

But I have compassion for my fellow exercisers, and I've got two words for you: mouth breathing. I typically breathe hard when I'm working out, through my mouth. And the last thing I wanna do while I'm sucking wind is inhale more than regular air, if you catch my drift. I'm pretty sure I can speak for everyone else when I say that the only gas I want entering my airways is oxygen, thankyouverymuch. 

So I try my hardest to hold it in, for the sake of those around me. And 99.9% of the time I succeed. But it takes a lot of complicated clenching, which inhibits my movements. This isn't good for several reasons, but the biggest one is that I'm usually up in front of the class right alongside my Zumba instructor. That's right: I'm practicing. Because at the end of this month - two more weeks, y'all -  I will be all licensed and official and able to teach my own Zumba classes!

But you can't teach people how to properly do the movements when you're all clenched up trying to spare everyone an explosion of hydrogen sulfide. So maybe, as a favor to future attendees of my Zumba classes, I ought to just lay off the fiber for a while.

Now, this could be especially awkward for those of you who know me in person. I mean, you're probably never going to be able to speak to me again without thinking, "OMG, I hope she's not going to fart close to me." But at least now you know I'm trying to hold it in. I mean, you could be talking to someone like my husband, who just lets one rip whenever the urge hits him, without regard for the people in his immediate vicinity.

Even if I do slip up from time to time in Zumba - which is probably inevitable - those around me are lucky I'm female. Because while the size of an average fart is 119 ml. for men, it's only 88 ml. for women.

The more you know ....... 





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