I made the terrible choice to eat three plates of beans during lunch at work. “Darling, I have a surprise for dinner tonight,” my husband exclaimed as he excitedly welcomed me home. After blindfolding me, he escorted me to my dining table seat. The phone rang as he was ready to take off the blindfold. After telling me not to look, he went to take the call. The strain became intolerable as the effects of the beans I had eaten began to take effect.
Letting go of a loud leg that “smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk,” I grabbed the opportunity and shifted my weight to one leg. In an attempt to diffuse the tension, I hastily snatched up my napkin and spread the air around me.
I moved to the other leg and quietly emitted three more, each worse than the last, feeling a little relieved.
“Worse than cooked cabbage,” the stench was. I let the gas out for a few more minutes, enjoying the relief, keeping my ears open to the conversation in the other room. When I heard the phone call ending up, I hurriedly fanned the air one final time, placed the napkin back on my lap, and folded my hands, attempting to look innocent. My husband inquired if I had peeked and apologized for the wait.
I assured him I hadn’t. With a smile, he removed the blindfold, and to my horror, I found twelve dinner guests seated around the table, all with their hands over their noses, as they chorused, “Happy Birthday!”