How One Fart Changed Our Relationship Forever

I consider myself a reserved individual. I rarely go out, find it difficult to make friends, and I don’t label someone as a friend just because I know them. This was advice from my mother: “Just because you know her doesn’t mean she’s your friend. You know her, and that’s it. Friendship runs deeper.”

There’s some truth to that, and I’ve held onto it as a guiding principle.

In university, I had a roommate who was the complete opposite of me—Benedicta. She loved to chat, while I preferred silence. She enjoyed going out when I wanted to stay in. She had a multitude of friends, while I had none. She mistakenly assumed I was her friend simply because we shared a room. To me, she was just my roommate. Yet, there was something captivating about Benedicta.

She is exactly who she claims to be—no pretense, no embellishments. Whenever I think of authenticity, I think of her. She never says one thing and does another, nor does she invite you to places she wouldn’t go herself. She taught me how to be genuine in a world where everyone seems to strive for a perfect facade.

One morning, I was jolted awake by a loud noise that resembled a balloon popping. There she was, standing by the bed, naked and polishing her nails. I asked, “What was that?” She replied nonchalantly, “That was me. It was the sound of my fart.” I thought it was one of her silly jokes and turned over to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, it happened again. I was awake this time, and I knew it was real. But how could she be so bold?

“Benedicta, I’m trying to sleep here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Could you do that outside?”

“No, I can’t.”

For the next several minutes, I was subjected to a symphony of farting sounds—some loud, some softer. She unapologetically let them all out. I covered my head with my blanket to shield myself. I should have been annoyed, but that was just Bene being herself.

That day’s conversation revolved around farting.

She said, “I’ve never heard you fart since we’ve been together. What do you use your anus for?” “Villager!” I exclaimed. She shot back, “Don’t be mistaken. To fart is human. Doing it in front of someone makes you a real human. Who are you shy of?” I boasted, “I’m not shy of anyone. I’m a lady. I respect myself enough to know when and where to…” She interrupted excitedly, “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about. Where and when to fart includes here. It’s just you and me. If you can’t fart in front of me, how will you do it in front of your boyfriend?”

“Fart in front of my boyfriend? Are you serious?”

“You don’t fart in front of your boyfriend? So what do you do when the urge strikes?”

I wasn’t going to answer that, and as far as I was concerned, the farting topic was closed. Too much fart talk for one day, but Bene wasn’t done. What she said next sounded like philosophy straight from Aristotle: “You date with forever in mind. That means forever without farting. That’s a struggle. That’s painful. If you can’t fart in front of the one you’re going to spend forever with, then you’re just hiding who you are.”

Read that again, and if you put Aristotle’s name beneath it, everyone would believe it came from him.

I pondered that statement all day, and the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I wanted to see how others felt, so I began asking friends…

“Akos, do you fart in front of your boyfriend?”

“We haven’t been dating long enough for that yet.”

“Mavis, how long do you think it takes before you start farting in front of him?”

“Hmmm… it depends on how close we are, but six months of serious dating would probably get me there.”

“Rose, what happened the first time you farted in front of him?”

“Hahaha, I was dozing off in his car and accidentally let one slip. He immediately rolled down the window and I apologized. He kept spitting out of the window for the rest of the ride, which made me feel terrible.”

I wanted to be sure. None of them said it was a bad thing, but they all cautioned that it should only happen when one feels comfortable with their partner.

I was comfortable with Alex. We had been dating for two years, and it never crossed my mind that farting in front of him was a good idea. “Are we pretending to be perfect in every way and incapable of a little mess?”

One day, this topic came up in conversation with Benedicta. I told her, “I would never do that in front of him. It’s not healthy for our relationship.” She replied, “I’ve had many boyfriends come and go. Some left because I was too good to them, but trust me, none of them left because I farted in front of them. Your boyfriend knows you fart anyway, so why hide it?”

One evening, we were both sitting quietly, engrossed in a movie. Suddenly, I felt the urge. Without hesitation, I lifted one side and let it out, loud and proud. He turned his head quickly and asked, “Was that an accident or intentional?” I replied, “It was an accident, I’m sorry.”

He burst into laughter, jumping around the room as if he’d won the lottery. “Wonders, so you fart too?” He paused the movie and teased me until I left the room. It felt like I had opened a new door in our relationship. He never stopped teasing me about it, bringing it up at every opportunity.

Not long after, we were walking toward his house when he grabbed my hand, a mischievous grin on his face. Just as I was about to ask what was up, he pulled my hand to his backside and farted on it. Then he ran away, laughing hysterically. When he stopped, he said, “I’m sorry, it was an accident.” I told him, “I won’t let this go unpunished.”

When I shared the story with Benedicta, she said, “Now you two are legends. You have nothing to hide anymore.”

A week or so ago, a friend shared her relationship woes with me. She said, “I don’t think that guy takes me seriously. He doesn’t respect me. He even farts in front of me. Maybe it’s time to walk away before he starts shitting on me.” She wouldn’t listen to my perspective because her mind was made up.

What works for some doesn’t work for others in relationships, but I think leaving someone over a fart is extreme. What do I know? Maybe I’m wrong, but what do you think? 

—Sally
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