*Please pick up your petticoats and skip away if you are scandalized by human biology.*
First things first, humans fart. Men, women and children all pass wind. Some of us are just more blessed than others. I happen to come from a long lineage of gas hording humanoids. Just ask my couch. The sounds of the toot, the squeak, the foghorn, the ah-OOOO-gah often wafts through my home. It’s nature, get over it.
Because I am used to farts, I realize that there are several layers to them. There are the wondrous sounds, the surprising smells and sometimes the unfortunate tastes. I only really mind the taste aspect. If I taste a fart, it means that someone has to shit and I just ate their poo. Not appreciated. Besides that (and being hot-boxed in a crowded subway car), I care not if you fart. This does not give people license to lift a leg and announce their presence willy-nilly near me. It is possible to hold gas in. Uncomfortable yes, but possible. We all must have manners. But, I prefer you release air rather than blow up. Just make sure you say excuse me and go to the bathroom if you actually have to poo.
It has gotten to the point where I seldom react to the sounds of compressed air leaving the body. When silence is broken by a strange fwep or a sneeze is punctuated with a pa-toot, I smile, but do not belly laugh like I once did as a grade school child. I believe that my auditory function has become somewhat numb to humans and their bodily functions.
I do have a fascination with dogs farting however.
Growing up, I was not aware that dogs could fart. When I was a child, I had a dog named Tidbit. “Tidbit from Tibet,” as my father would say. He was actually from New Jersey, but who’s taking notes. Tidbit was the sweetest Shih Tzu and I loved him to bits. Yes, he would eat used sanitary napkins, but he had the best of intentions. And I never heard him fart.
I heard stories of dogs passing gas. But, I still had not heard it in person. I’m not talking smell here, I’m talking sound. Because I have certainly smelled the room clearing scents that are released by the bowels of a hound. Yeah, I’m calling you out Lily! I have two tiny, 4lb. yorkie-poo (ha ha poo) sisters (Lily and Lola) and I think their assholes are too small to release any sounds. Or at least, sound audible to the human ear. However, Lily could go by the name “Silent but Deadly” especially since she is all ninja black.
One very early Sunday morning, everything changed. My ears were opened and my mind was blown. I was sleepily staring at the computer screen wondering what other video I could find that would slightly amuse me until I got enough energy to start making the coffee. I found myself mindlessly typing into the YouTube search box “dog fart”. I found the mother-lode.
There were dogs farting, dogs reacting to human farts and dogs reacting to their own farts. Dogs reacting to other dog’s farts and cats being farted on by dogs. Tail moving farts, feet twitching farts and grimacing faces from smelly farts. I was in dog fart heaven.
Humans spend so much time pretending they weren’t the ones who farted in public. I think if we could, people would throw post-poot smoke pellets and run away in shame. But dogs? Man-oh-man… They don’t know embarrassment. How could they? They greet each other by smelling asses. And they are cute and fuzzy and when silly noises come from them unexpectedly, their reactions make me want to squeeze them and hug them and throw confetti all over the floor like a prancing Rip Taylor!
I still haven’t heard a dog fart in person, but good old YouTube has certainly satiated my curiosity for now. So, from my heart to you, please enjoy these few favorite Dog vs. Fart videos. And one flatulent rabbit…
My husband can imitate this dog perfectly. In fact, I often ask him to “do the dog face”.
This is not a dog, but a bunny. My love for farting bunnies almost matches my love for gassy pups.
Toothbrushing, am I right? Who thought of that bullshit? “Hey everyone, let’s scrape hard plastic bristles against our tender pink gums! Poke around in our mouth crevices with teeny tiny spikes! And stinging peppermint disinfectant!!” Sure, the scrubbing may feel good at first. Until you see the blood. In your spit (what the HELL’s it doing there??) In the sink (DITTO!!) All of a sudden brushing seems barbaric, aggressive, violent. Like an unholy congress with a crafty porcupine, jabbing its spines under your gumline like it’s trying to knit a sweater from the leftover spinach stuck there since lunch.
Alright, I concede that I might be exaggerating juuuuust a tetch. It’s just that brushing my teeth has always been one of my least favorite rituals. (That said, I’d like to take the opportunity to reassure anyone reading this that I DO IT REGULARLY, AND WITH VIGOR.)
So before you judge me, and forward me all sorts of links to dental urban legends about “flossing”, hear me out. This morning was different.
This morning I enjoyed the saucy tickle of a new toothbrush that changed my life: so soft, it might as well have been made of chinchilla. Like a minty nuzzle from the Doublemint Twins, it felt like America. Sunshine. Warm laundry. I damn nearly danced out of the bathroom, ready for anything.
Yeah, that’s right: I keep my expectations low. Goal for the day = plaque-free teeth? DONE! What else ya got for me, Universe?? I may be a disappointment to myself, others, and all those who came before me, but I will no longer be held back by the Scylla and Charybdis of diamond-hard bristles and razor-sharp floss. EVERYTHING WILL BE BETTER FROM NOW ON!
Dissolve to: A tree-lined street on a Hollywood backlot. Cue jaunty horns!
I high-step along the street like I’m in a musical with Judy Garland from the 40s. She’s dressed as a friendly Technicolor wino. Judy smells great: a heady mix of Thunderbird and that mush-in-a-bowl the Hare Krishnas give out on Avenue A. She’s missing some teeth but hey – it’s charming, like she lost ‘em playing dice with Mickey Mouse instead of knocked out in a brawl with her dealer over two dollars. We fall into step together and grin, thumbs hooked into our suspenders and faces lifted to the sun. A syncopated bass line plays and we tip our faded, fraying hats to a campy extra who will go on to own an Arthur Murray franchise, then design orthopedic inserts for retired dancers. Our smiles widen, and we break into a song about the three precious teeth we got between us – they bring us luck and we ain’t never lettin’ ‘em go! Never mind the teeth we lost – that’s all in the past and THIS IS SHOWBIZ! Our dental hygiene routine involves a rag, some Old Granddad, and JAZZ.
Seriously though – Celebrities in the ‘40s had the right idea:
- Maintain your dental health through booze (WIN!)
- Turn tooth loss into a hilarious comedy chestnut
- Spend your sunset years hawking denture cream
Truly, it is the American Comedy Dream. And I am living it.