Keeping the romance alive
There are a lot of things we will do for and in front of each other as a married couple.
We wee in front of each other (regularly. I mean, it's not like it's a thing of ours, it doesn't do it for us, it just seems to be one of those things that happens a lot. And no, we never "drop the kids off at the pool" in front of each other. EVER.) I have been incapacitated post-surgery and needed his help with showering, changing clothes, even shaving my armpits. That same day he was exposed to my need for help with a sanitary product (let's just say that if you've had wrist surgery and the damn strings to the tampon decide to go spelunking further up the cave, then help may be needed. I was in need, enough said.) He has held my hair back while I puked (and then set the toothbrush up for me immediately after to remove that Freshly Biled flavor), overlooked That Bad Smell in the bathroom when it was clear I was struggling, and not minded when feminine products were added to the shopping list.
But we have drawn the line at farts.
We don't fart in front of each other.
I'm not sure how it started, because we're not such precious princesses that we can't fart in front of the kids (because we do, and then we try to blame it on the dog). But we never fart around each other. If one of us has to blow the lid, we leave the room. And it's not like we don't know that the other person doesn't have the occasional need to break wind, because we have both had the misfortune of walking into the room just after a deadly one has dropped and it becomes That Thing Which We Do Not Name.
I don't even try to let them loose around him anymore. Even when I know it will be quiet, I leave the room. It's based on history-the one time I did drop one around him, we were in bed reading, I was heavily pregnant and thus faced with the dilemma of "God, the toilet again, or do I just wing this?" I decided to just wing it.
I doled it out, and then congratulated myself for sneaking it out without noise, detection, or odor.
However, I congratulated myself too early.
It was without question the most noxious, toxic, silent-but-violent fart I have ever successfully produced in my life. I'm surprised the duvet didn't melt and Health and Safety weren't called. I sat there, wondering if he'd developed a sudden head cold. Instead, I heard thus:
"Jesus, did something die in here?"
So he did ping my pong then. Got it. Awesome.
And ever since then, I don't sneak them in.
Sneaking doesn't always mean they are not detected.