Sunday, March 11, 2007

Getting Old Stinks, Literally

I can’t wait until I’m 50 years old. That’s when I become a Senior Citizen. Once I become a “senior,” I’ll get to join all kinds of clubs and organizations with assorted perks made just for me: AARP, special health insurance supplements; discounts on movies, airline tickets, meals, hotels, etc.

But around the age of 65 I’ll get to join the best group of all, the I’m-old-so-when-I’m-flatuent-I-get-to-let-‘er-blow-when-and-where-ever-I-want-to club, the “let-‘er-blow” club for short.

All those years of painful discomfort, fighting to hold in my flatulence when in public, will come to an end. Yes, instead of being an unwilling spectator of the wind section of the “Senior Citizen Orchestra,” I’ll (while eating in a restaurant, browsing at a book store, shopping at the supermarket, or in the middle of a conversation), get to actually participate in said orchestra. I’ll just let ‘er rip, and then carry on as if nothing happened. Or I’ll blame it on my medicine. Either way I’ll get an automatic pardon because of my age.

This will be especially welcomed if I’m still single at the time I join the club. Ooooh the pain and misery I’ve suffered over the past few years with a belly full of methane while on a date. Let me tell you, sitting through dinner at a restaurant, while bloated like a cow loose in the alfalfa field, anxiously waiting for my date to excuse herself to the bathroom so I can let the flatulence fly, is inhumane torture beyond belief.

I mean, sitting in a booth at an I-HOP (I like to impress my dates by taking them to high class restaurants), trying to concentrate on the dinner conversation, while my stomach is rumbling, groaning, and growling, is a tough act to pull off.

Now, changing sitting positions in an effort to relieve the discomfort isn’t an option. There’s just too good a chance the movement will allow one of those high pitched, pinched-off, squeakers to sneak out, and try as I might to convince my date the noise was from scooting on the seat and not from intestinal distress, she’ll know better and my facade as a cultured, couth, gentleman will be blown (pun intended) out of the water.

But when I hit that mystical number, where all things uncouth are excused on account of age, I won’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll be able to “sneeze” in my pants and my date won’t even care--she’ll probably be doing the same thing, maybe even trumpeting the song Dixie just for my amusement.

Lest you think this happens all at once, well, it doesn’t. It’s a gradual process.

It starts sometime in your mid to late 40s when, for some inexplicable reason, you start having the “sneak-up flatulence.” Up until this point in your life you’ve been able to hold in or let out your flatulence at will, making an art of releasing it when goofing with friends, siblings and the like; or holding it in while in public.

But as you creep ever so closely to 50 years of age the sneak-ups start in, and though you’re positive you have the gas valve closed, an unannounced, unfelt, bubble or two of methane will bust loose, catching you totally unaware, and leaving you red-faced, searching for someone on whom to place the blame.

Next, usually while in your 50s, comes the “walking flatulence.” By this time you’ve learned that the best thing to do, when bloated with a belly full of methane is, well, nothing. Don’t move, don’t speak, and especially don’t laugh. Keep as much pressure off of your stomach as you possibly can.

But sometimes this just isn’t possible. You have places to go, people to meet. You don’t always have the luxury of sitting still until the attack subsides.

So, you carefully stand up from a sitting position, and since no flatulence escapes, you’re confident you have everything under control and start walking. That’s when it happens.

You take your first step forward and POP, a methane bubble bursts, and with each consecutive step there after another POP! By the time you’ve taken 10 steps you sound like a fully operational Gatlin gun. War veterans in the room will scramble for cover, while everyone else doubles over with laughter (why is flatulence so funny anyway?).

There’s no way you can pin the deed on someone else; not with the walking flatulence. It’s just all too obvious where those rapid-fired gas bubbles came from, especially if you’re the only one in the room walking.

You can’t blame the incident on medicine either. No one will believe you. They’ll think you’re too young to be on the kind of medication (what ever kind that is) that gives you intestinal problems, so all you can do is politely say, “Excuse me,” and continue on your way.

The sneak-ups and the walking flatulence are just a prelude to what awaits you down the road of life. Sometime, while in your sixties, all ability to shut down the gas pipeline leaves you. Whether it’s due to medication, as so many claim, an aging digestive system, or you’re old and tired and just don’t care anymore, who knows? But it seems between ages 65-70 all pretense of at least trying to hold back the nauseous fumes is gone.

Oh, you’ll still utter an occasional, “excuse me,” or explain it away with some kind of medical excuse, but mostly you'll smile or look straight forward, acting as if you don’t know what everybody is gasping about. And everybody in the room, especially the young, will let it slide. Why? You’re old and can’t help it, and that, my friends, is when you know you’ve arrived, when you know you’ve been admitted into that exclusive “let-‘er-blow” club.

So, instead of dreading the aging process I say embrace it! Look forward to it with a smile as you think of all the advantages that await you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I must leave you—dinner has digested and I think I’m about to have a, shall we say, senior moment?

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Just Say No!

As many of you know, I was a teacher a few years back. One particular school (a private one) where I taught invited the County Health Department to come speak to our middle-school kids. At the end of the meeting these health care workers handed the kids and faculty the pamphlet (mainly written for girls) 101 Ways to Say No to Sex. Seriously, as if “NO!” isn’t enough.

Now, the suggestions listed in the pamphlet were so ludicrous that once I established in my students’ minds that NO means NO, discussion over; we proceeded to have a little fun with the booklet. What follows are some of the more ridiculous ideas in the pamphlet on how to say no to sex and our responses to them.


1) “I’m allergic to sex.” Are you kidding me?! Even an idiot knows this is bogus. Besides, a guy would trump that with “take an allergy pill, baby.”


2) “How about a backrub instead?” Let me try to wrap my mind around this one. Some poor little girl has on her hands a hot-blooded teen-age boy, whose libido is in overdrive and begging to perform the horizontal mumbo (of which she does not want to be a part), and instead of “just say no” she’s to tell the boy she’d rather he put his hands under her blouse and braw strap and give her a backrub. RIIIIIIGHT! That’s like having a stick of dynamite with a very short fuse in one hand, a lighted match in the other, and seeing how close together you can bring them without igniting the dynamite! Not really what you’d call a smart idea.


3) “I don’t know you well enough.” Oh, come on! Guys figured out the answer to this one back when we were still walking on all fours, “What better way to get to know each other?”


4) “I have homework.” Lame, lame, lame. You see, a guy will offer to help the girl out with her homework if they first have sex (and if you believe that I have some swamp land I’ll sell you), or he’ll come up with some unsubstantiated fact like, “Hey, pounding a Posture Pedic will clear your mind so you’ll work faster, and more accurately.”


5) “I know your reputation.” The classic retort to this one has several variations, but as a whole it goes something like, “Ah baby, don’t believe all those stories. They’re not true. They were started by a jealous ex-girlfriend for dumping her. I’m not a player. Honest, I’m not.” Let’s refer to Shakespeare for this one: me thinks he doth protest too much.


6) “I’m tired.” Response, “You’ll sleep so much better after a 'romp in the hay' and I’ll hold you afterward while you sleep.” Suuuuure he will.


7) “I have a headache.” This is the oldest excuse known to man and so is the response, “There’s no better cure, baby.”


8) “I don’t feel well.” See retort to number seven. Oh, and a guy might, for good measure, add a little extra to his response, “it’s a good way to relax, release pent up frustration, anger, and anxiety. You’ll feel so much better afterward, I promise.”


9) "Someone might catch us.” Rest assured this was not a random idea that had just popped into the guy’s mind. No, he’s probably thought this out very carefully and has set out all kinds of, if you’ll pardon the expression, booby traps that will make a loud racket, warning them that they’re about to experience coitus interruptus.


10) “I don’t want to get pregnant.” Condom to the rescue! Odds are the boy will have one in his wallet. Remember? This was not random thought; he came prepared.?


11) “You won’t respect me afterward.” Of course, the guy will assure her that he will respect her and he’ll even fake like he does, until she stops putting out. Then he’ll be no where to be found and neither will his so-called respect for her.


12) “I’m not in the mood.” Look, we’re talking about an over-sexed teenage boy with a ramped up libido. She doesn’t need to be in the mood, he’ll do all the work. As far as he’s concerned, while he’s getting his jollies she can go over her homework in her mind.


13) “Let’s get our blood tested first.” Sobering retort, one that’ll stop a guy dead in his tracks--if he’s an amateur; otherwise, he’ll play the “I’m hurt. Don’t you trust me?” card. And if she’s an amateur, one look at his big, sad eyes, his quivering chin and quaking voice, and she’ll melt, forgetting all about blood tests.


In the end, the bottom line is what I emphasized to my students, NO! means NO! That’s all a person needs to say. That’s all a person needs to hear. End of lecture.Just Say No!