The Sounding Off of an Unsound Mind: Self Cleaning Dutch Ovens and how Ben Franklin Wants to Save the World

Benjamin Franklin is known as one of the founding fathers of this nation. He also had a knack for writing. One of his lesser known works is "A Letter to the Royal Academy" in which he skewers the scientific community for spending their time on theory rather than seeking advancement for the common man. His proposal for how research could better serve humanity is both twisted and hilarious. He suggests that flatulence is a natural process that affects everyone, and yet we hide it. Why is it a shame to fart when everyone does it? Clearly, we need to fix the smell. Ben Franklin told the entire scientific community to drop what they were doing and fix smelly gas so we can "fart proudly." Of course, he never sent the letter to them. He sent it instead to a friend who had a good laugh at the expense of the scientists, but there was some truth to his scent-iments. Therefore, I will be the first to stand up and declare it:

My husband Michael is an enigma to me.

In the 18 years we've been together, I've heard him fart exactly twice...one of which was during sleep. His bowels evacuate (or not) on command. If colons competed in the Olympics, I'm fairly certain he'd be the Russian male gymnast competing in bathroom. He is the fuhrer of flatulence, the Stalin of stool. Somewhere long ago, I think he threatened his innards with death for falling out of line because his gastrointestinal control does not fail. Ever.

Then he married me.

Some might blame lactose intolerance...Milk does it, but is there lactose in broccoli, beans, cabbage, sunlight, water, or air? They do it, too. You could say I'm a naturally gassy person...I tend to fart in my sleep. I tend to fart when I'm awake. I have literally farted myself from asleep to awake.The gas transcends.

Some people may whisper in their panties, but my pants only muffle the anal screams. I seem to have the same light touch as a German jazz band. ... If you smell it, you'll know why my rear is screaming. Somewhere between the watering of the eyes and the raping of the nasal passages, you realize the effectiveness of chemical warfare...and will question whether my intestines are a part of a government conspiracy. You'll be happy to know, thanks to rolling in my sleep, that I have been in close proximity to the gas...(I like to call it a self cleaning dutch oven) ...and rest assured you will not die...though you may want to.

It's not cute. It's not feminine, but it is hereditary. Not once in all of time did anyone believe that my mother actually stepped on a bull frog. Just saying. At no point do frogs, barking spiders, or ducks make a sound that resembles the air evacuating a stretched balloon.

My husband ...God bless him...Never complains.

He did scream,"Ugh...I can taste it!" once, but can we blame him? We had eaten chili, so....

It's difficult because my children take after me also. My darling daughter who wants to be a princess and is supremely feminine, has gas so leaded that it has run the dog out of the room. It makes it worse because they think it's funny.

...Needless to say, I no longer allow them to wake each other up in the mornings due to a tragic sharting incident. (I'll let you use your imagination)

No family dinner would be complete at our house without one of them "accidentally" passing wind and then erupting in giggles. Add to that dynamic my husband's family who fart and utter a polite "excuse me" and move on. My children want none of that. Be advised: They do think it's funny, and they will call you out..via satellite, if it's available.

I'm certainly not fond of my unflattering flatulence (say THAT three times fast!) and it has led to some fun stories.

Mike's favorite was the time I was cleaning out the refrigerator. I was bent over looking for dead leftovers and Mike decided to sneak up behind me and that is when it happened.

Despite trying to hold it in, a tiny squeak of a fart trumpeted out of my sphincter and Mike started laughing. Startled and embarrassed both at having farted and at basically crop dusting my husband, I crouched into a frog position. This was a mistake. I wasn't finished farting.

With every embarrassed giggle, I farted a little more...(Think: a go cart revving it's engine) and it went on for what must have been 2 full minutes, but with Mike openly laughing at me, it felt like it should be set to the tune of Chariots of Fire.

By the end, I was sitting in the kitchen floor unable to breathe

(either from laughing or because all the air had escaped through the other end)...which I guess was a blessing because there was a giant wall of fart in my face...

My favorite story (Sorry, Mom) was the time my mother reenacted a Kmart commercial. In her defense, we were travelling, and I think bad food was involved. There we were....in the clearance isle of Kmart... across the store from the restrooms...and my mother stops dead in her tracks.
Sometimes....when you fart a lot...you make mistakes.

"I shipped my pants!" she whisper screamed to me. She didn't say "shipped." A look of horror fell across her face. Then I smelled it.

Without any doubt, she did in fact ship her pants...in Kmart...It was not as convenient as the commercial implies.

She next had to accomplish the task of getting all the way across the store in tact. Thus began the two mile an hour clenched butt waddle with me right behind her trying to "be cool" and avoid gagging while deflecting people from noticing mom's pants.... once we made it to the restroom, the day got better. Mom got a new outfit...and got to wear it immediately.